Leave Your Bones
by Flyaway21
Summary: When half-elf Lyra leaves her home of Rivendell, she never expects the adventures, friendships, and sacrifices that come her way. She might just find where she belongs, if she can survive. Caught between war and innocence, Lyra unearths secrets from her past that affect the balance of Middle Earth. Already strained, will it fall? 10th Walker.
1. The Darkness Creeps Forth

" _In the end, we'll all become stories."_ **Margaret Atwood**

* * *

The man clad in armor was falling away into a dark endless pit that rippled like water. His blue eyes, so familiar to her, widened in fear and shock. In all the years Lyra had known Aragorn, she had never once witnessed such base hopelessness in him, a betrayal of his namesake.

His blood, her blood pooled on his chest, growing darker and wider, spreading until it finally spilt, dripping into the obscurity below. His skin, usually tanned from hours spent under the sun, faded to a deathly white. She could see the life slipping away, see the pain grow even as it did.

Her arms, fixed firmly to her side, refused to move.

 _Help him, catch him_ , her mind screamed into the abyss over and over.

But still he fell faster and faster, all at once beyond her reach. The darkness was hungry- she could feel its sharp claws unfurl on his body, cutting through flesh as easily as bone. He was falling apart, being ripped to pieces.

And still she did nothing.

* * *

Lyra shot up from the nightmare in sudden blind panic. Her hands, fumbling and clammy, clutched at the silk sheets that tangled her legs and kept her pinned to the bed. With shaking hands, she threw them off and stumbled to the door before grasping the intricately designed handles and flinging them open.

She had hoped her dark thoughts would remain in the room behind her but they were more difficult to abandon. The fire in her hearth had gone out long ago and now, only pale embers remained.

Despite the cool autumn air that swirled around Rivendell, her skin burned, causing small rivulets of sweat to trail down her neck into the collar of her shirt.

She felt trapped. Suffocated. _It was just a dream_ , she repeated the mantra in her head, _just a dream_. But really, she knew it was a lie. It was more; it meant more. She just didn't know what.

Her favorite season had arrived after a particularly harsh summer, but she found little joy in the orange leaves or the crispness of the air.

Disbelief and disappointment ran through her veins in equal measure. She had hoped the nightmares had disappeared for good. It had been more than three months since the dreams had left her in a trembling mess. More than three months since she had woken screaming, leaving the whole of Rivendell to believe she was being murdered in her bed.

It wasn't fair, she announced to the gale that ruffled her hair into a tightly knotted mess. There, she had said it. The wind howled back at her and she managed a weak glare in return.

The elven city was utterly tranquil and quiet in the dark. Moonlight reflected on the water outside, glittering like broken glass; even the waterfall had grown mute in the darkness as small clouds of mist rose from the ripples. Even though Rivendell was usually a peaceful place, these moments of complete isolation were a balm to her frayed nerves.

She had been in awe of this place, since the first time she had set foot inside. Elves were connected to nature in a surreal way, the softness of the grass, the color of flowers, the feel of water trickling through their fingers. But the darkness of night was something Lyra cherished. It was a time when the entire world seemed to hold still and take a deep breath, as if it were pausing and allowing her the time to catch up.

She wandered absentmindedly through the halls, gazing up at paintings with unseeing eyes, before finding herself in Lord Elrond's study. Running her fingers over the fragile parchment and breathing in the dusty air, she allowed herself a smile. As a child, it had been one of her favorite places, indoors at least.

Normally, Lyra preferred the lakes and forests, riding her horse and climbing trees, but she had countless fond memories here. As a child still unsure of her new home, Elrond would read to her, inspiring in her a love of adventure that only books seemed to provide. Arwen also was only too happy to spoil the young girl with stories of far off places, lands Lyra had begun to doubt she would ever see.

It had been over ten years since she had curled her body up to her adopted father's, clutching his robe with her tiny fingers, turned her large eyes up to him begging for just one more story. It was silly, she knew, that at twenty years of age, she craved the shelter of her father's arms. But she did.

Lyra groaned and stared up at the moon. Its sight always soothed her and tonight was no exception. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, but for a ragged hitch and a slight shudder that still held to her shoulders.

"Lyra." A voice spoke behind her, causing her to spin around in slight panic, her thoughts still clouded with dark dreams. When Lord Elrond took another step forwards, she forced herself to relax and struggled to smile. Judging by the concerned crease on his forehead, it failed to convince him.

"I was just getting some fresh air." She attempted weakly. Even if the elf lord had not taken care of her for almost 10 years, he still could have spotted the lie. The elves may have taught her many things, but hiding her emotions was never one she had mastered as easily as riding a horse or wielding blades.

He frowned. "It has been many months since you have had nightmares." For some reason, the gentle reminder felt like a reprimand. She hung her head low and turned away, facing the open balcony once more. After a moment of silence, she felt him come to stand beside her. Although he too gazed above at the moon, she could feel his attention fixed on her.

"Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of." The gentle rebuke was tinged with the power of his authority.

"I know." She struggled to find words and finally settled for a shrug, "I just thought I was done with them."

"I doubt you ever will be completely. Do not fear them so." His voice reverberated inside her mind, as it often tended to do when she landed herself in trouble. In the beginning, even as a child, Lyra had felt completely inadequate next to him and Arwen. As a half elf, she possessed similar features. Her eyes, wide and green, were framed by hair that was wavy and more than a little unruly. She had pale porcelain skin but if she felt embarrassed, would easily tinge to a light pink. Her fingers, though slender, held callouses that spoke of her training. She was shorter than most elves, with a slightly sturdier build. Though her moments remained fluid most of the time, she would stumble, often with her nose in a book.

She never saw Lord Elrond stumble. Still, it had not taken long until she saw beyond his often stern exterior to the wisdom and affection he held for her. And that had swiftly had turned to a fatherly love that she knew was just as strong as it was for Arwen or the twins.

"I'm not scared." She said, even though he knew better. They both did.

At her discomfort, he probed further, "You have done well Lyra and come far."

His words were true, she knew but another part of her constantly felt like a fraud. She lived among the elves, considered them family and had in turn, been treated as such. Still, as much as she loved her home, she never truly felt as though she fit. It wasn't the fact that she stumbled when they never did or that they always seemed to glimpse things a second before her. It was the fact that she lived in one the most beautiful places in Middle Earth and still she wondered what was beyond the borders. Elves were not supposed to feel restless as she often did. Elladan and Elrohir often dryly remarked it must be the half human side to her.

"Tell me what troubles you child." His command was soft but one that left no room for arguments.

"I feel as though a shadow hangs over my head these days. I can't explain it."

"You feel the evil spreading. I have also felt it." She saw his jaw tighten and his features darken.

"It's not the same. There's an impatience to it. I feel as though there is something I must do. I just can't figure out what." She grimaced and pushed her long hair from her face with a grunt of annoyance. "I doubt I will be satisfied until I figure it out." She confessed. For a moment, she thought she glimpsed a shred of fear in her father's eyes but it must have only been the reflection of deep water below because he blinked and it was gone.

"This is your home and your purpose is here." He said with a kind of finality as though he was speaking more to himself than to her.

"Perhaps if I helped with the scouting more-" She tried, glancing up at him from the corner of her eye, attempting to gauge a reaction.

Now more than ever, orcs had found their way close to Rivendell's borders. It was only last year, after much begging on her part, that Elrond had given Lyra permission to participate. Even now, she could tell how much it pained him to accept her participation in skirmishes.

He sighed, something he often did when she was near. "You know I don't like you to go off too far alone."

"I won't go far- just to the river and back." She promised, fixing him with large eyes of supplication. He laughed at her attempt of coercion.

"Those may have worked when you were a child-"

"So you admit I am grown?" She asked, a spark of victory in her eyes.

He chuckled at that. "Twenty is hardly grown. You are still so young. Although I suppose in my eyes, you always will be." He kissed the top of her head and she breathed in the familiar comforting scent of him, of family.

"Don't wander too far tomorrow." He cautioned before trailing silently from the room, leaving her feeling much lighter than before.

* * *

As soon as the faintest rays of light found their way into the sky, Lyra had practically flown out of bed. She knew sleep would not claim her again and had lain awake rereading many scrolls, some in Lord Elrond's own hand. Eager to be off, she had quickly shrugged into her leggings and soft boots. The fabric was worn and stained with small specks of blood but Lyra refused to replace it as much as Arwen had pleaded. Her daggers hung over her back, a comforting weight. Lastly came her curved sword that hung at her side. Sneaking from her room, she closed the door behind her and hurried down the hallway, naturally silent steps ensuring she would not rouse anyone from sleep.

As it turned out, she needn't have bothered. She rounded a corner and ran headfirst into Elrond's twin sons. Both males had long dark hair and sharp eyes and stood towering over her. Their almost feminine features betrayed their skill with swords and though they both possessed slender builds, she knew what massive strength that hid.

Nonetheless, she scowled at them. "What are you two doing up?"

"For your information, we just arrived home." Taking a closer look, she realized they told the truth. Their pants were splattered in mud and something darker. Orc blood, she surmised with a grunt of distaste. Elrohir stood barefooted and seeing Elladan's boots that were caked with mud, she understood why.

"Rough night?" She asked innocently, giving them both one last disappointing look over.

"Laugh all you like but while you were sleeping to your heart's content, we were protecting the borders." She rolled her eyes, recognizing another one of Elrohir's gallant moods.

She swept them both a low bow. "How it puts us women's hearts at ease to know two such fine warriors stand amidst the rain and mud-" She was unable to finish as Elrohir grabbed her wrist and pulled, bending down. He proudly paraded around the balcony with her atop his shoulder while she, squealing and slapping at his back, demanding to be put down. Elladan shook his head at them both, a good-natured smile upon his lips.

"What's going on here?" Elrohir froze at the voice, his muscles going taut under her hand.

"Who is it?" Lyra whispered, turning her neck this way and that, unable to see. "Turn around." She poked at his back. With a sigh, he attempted to deposit her to her feet. Not ready, she grabbed the back of his shirt and gave a small yelp, her instincts causing her to hold faster to him, sending them both to the ground in a jumble of arms and legs.

Pushing her hair from her face, she looked up to see Lord Elrond staring down at them with one eyebrow raised in a clearly disapproving way. Arwen, who held one hand up to her mouth in an attempt to silence her delight, stood beside her father.

"Good morning." Lyra said seriously, stumbling to her feet and slapping the back of her brother's head, who was unable to keep his laughter muffled.

"Is this how a protector of Rivendell acts?" Elrond's eyes swept over them all and she, as well as the twins, cringed.

"We were only playing father." Elrohir answered, somewhat sheepishly.

"I wasn't speaking of you." He fixed his son with a rather pointed gaze.

"I shall attempt to be more dignified in the future." She promised, balancing on the balls of her feet.

"See that you do." He answered but there was no heat and much amusement behind his eyes.

"What's this about protecting Rivendell?" Elladan piped in.

"Lyra will be charged with patrolling the north side today." Arwen added, smiling at her sister, sensing her enthusiasm. Lyra grinned back crookedly and held back a blush.

"Perhaps we should accompany her." Elrohir suggested, already pulling his boot back on.

"You two just got back." She protested with a frown.

"Enough." Elrond commanded. "Lyra is correct- in this case at least." She tried not to frown at that. "She has been training hard and we should trust her. Besides, she is only going to the river. Isn't that correct?"

"Of course." She replied, fighting her urge to glare at the twins.

"Then, we shall see you at dinner." He nodded at her, permitting her dismissal. With a grin that stretched across her face, she set off for the stables. After a moment's hesitation, she heard the twins follow, their footsteps lazy and unhurried.

By the time they caught up with her, she had begun to saddle her stallion Hisime. The warhorse was sparkling grey with a large black spot that encompassed one eye. Arwen often said that the horse looked as though he had just been in a fight. Now, as his enormous head rubbed again her arm and his eyes lolled shut, he looked downright lazy.

But in battle, when the scent of blood hit his nostrils, he was anything but. Years ago, when she was first learning to ride, she had approached the tall steed with much apprehension, for although she loved horses, one step from the stallion would crush her. It had been the twins who taught her to ride, who had soothed her fears and stood nearby while she made friends with the beast. Now, there was no a hint of fear while Lyra gave him a kiss on his silky muzzle. She visited him at the stables almost everyday, feeding him more apples and sugar cubes that she ought to.

"You will be careful won't you?" Elladan asked, leaning across the stall door, his tall frame completely relaxed.

"Of course I will." She snorted, rolling her eyes at their concern, torn somewhere between being touched and annoyed.

"At least Hisime will be able to outrun anything chasing you should you need to return home." Elrohir added.

The stallion's ears laid flat against his head and he stomped his hoof at the elf who eyed him warily.

"I remembered when you used to like me." He muttered under his breath but loud enough for all to hear.

"Good boy." Lyra praised the horse who leaned into her touch, much to Elrohir's exasperation. She swung herself into the saddle with practiced grace and speed and smirked when Hisime began to dance underneath her, his muscles quivering and straining to remain still.

At the twins' doubtful faces, her ire began to rise. "Don't you two have any faith in my abilities?"

"You know we do." They exchanged mirrored looks before shrugging. "We trained you ourselves after all."

"Good, then you'll know who to blame when I take all the good kills." She stuck her tongue out at them childishly before urging Hisime onward. It turned out he was as eager to be off as she. In seconds, they had flown out the gates of Rivendell and towards the wild.

* * *

Review?


	2. A Little Water Never Hurt

" _Ultimately what you love and see and learn and read and create and give and change and inspire is what you choose to fill those voids with between your very first inhale and your fiery last exhale and we have the audacity to call it breathing."_

* * *

Lyra couldn't help but laugh in delight as Hisime's hooves thundered across the open plane. The speed and power of the stallion was tangible in moments like these and she in turn reveled in the adrenaline, feeling untouchable as wind whipped her hair away from her face.

Autumn air turned icy as the sun disappeared behind dark clouds, turning the morning oddly dark. Eventually, she murmured soothing words and he slowed with a flick of his tale. Giddy with freedom, she patted his neck that rippled with muscle and inhaled the intoxicating pine scent.

When several hours passed with no more excitement than a few rowdy birds chasing each other around the ranches, Lyra's hopeful mood began to fall. The soft drizzle that fell from the sky didn't bother her, rather she left her hood down and turned her face towards the sky. Indeed, she loved the smell and taste of rain, the way it cast the forest in a sharp and alluring light. The problem in her mind was the fact they had yet to come across anything remotely threatening. Her only companions had been chattering squirrels, herds of nervous deer that hid under thick trees, and birds that swooped from branch to branch. Already regretting her foolhardy words, she wondered what reaction the boys would have when she returned with nothing at all.

"Taking all the good kills." She snorted in a most unladylike way. "What kills?" Rationally, she knew it was good news she should be thankful for. Her home was secure. As of late, the enemy had grown bold and all too often, members of the guard and even her brothers had been called out again and again to deal with orc and warg packs. Still, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. After all, she could only practice with her bow so much in the training areas. Moving targets, perhaps an orc or two, would test her ability in a much more demanding way. Hisime's ears flickered towards her before shaking his head at her silliness.

Before she could berate him for his laziness, unease rippled through Lyra's mind, causing her to unconsciously jerk back on the reins. In her nightmares, she would at times fall from bed and wake only in time to catch herself before hitting the floor, every muscle instantly taunt. Having the same anxiety when she was awake sharpened the feeling until it seemed to resonate inside her mind. As swiftly as it had come, it faded away, leaving Lyra lightheaded.

The forest was still and unusually quiet, too quiet. She cursed her thoughtlessness for not recognizing it earlier. Several moments passed in tense silence before a high-pitched squeal reached her ears. Even though she recognized it being some distance away, the sound went through her like physical pain. Horror. Anger. Fear. Despair. The emotions flickered through Lyra almost too quickly to recognize and differentiate before they blended into the other and then faded away, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Lyra bit her lip and debated. Common sense told her to go home, away from the clearly repulsive sound. She had promised Lord Elrond she would only go to Bruinen's first river bend.

On the other hand, wasn't that the reason she was out here in the first place? She would only have to go a few miles out of the way, she reasoned. He would never know. Curiosity overruled logic with barely a second thought and she prompted Hisime towards the river. Though clearly as nervous as she, he hesitantly strode forward.

A few anxious laden moments later, the trees gave way to the great River Bruinen, the reflection of soft sunlight upon it like sparkling jewels. The water gurgled and ran beside them at a steady pace and for a while, they rode in peace. If not for the tremor in her hands, Lyra might have been able to reason away the scream as something else- an animal dying perhaps or a mere quake in the mountains or even a figment of her imagination.

Towering trees grew dark and crowded, encroaching the water's edge until their presence completely blocked any open path. The woods were tight and filled with briars that jutted against each other at sharp and strange angles. A small waterfall was the only source of light and noise as the thick branches above choked out all sunlight. The water was deeper here and shadowed by the cliffs above it. Rainbows appeared and disappeared in the mist of the falling current, flickering to life and dying, again and again.

In the middle of the river, slightly elevated, was a wide grey boulder, turned a shade darker by the shallow water lying atop it. From there, she could climb to the top of the cliff, a small space that remained dry, sheltered from the water above. Jumping off nimbly, she strung her bow over the saddle.

"I'll be right back." She promised Hisime. His only reply was to snort at her and paw the ground.

"Relax. I'm just gonna take a look." She promised. A trail of stones allowed her to hop from land to the stone island without having to wade in the churning water.

Full of nervous energy now, she began to climb. Only a few times did she slip, her fingers digging into the rock face, searching out small crevices she could hold to. Although she was only half elf, her years had been spent honing her skills. For elves, balance and poise came as naturally as breathing. For Lyra, it required more work.

If she reached out to either side, she could touch the river that cascaded around her. Even now, it roared in her ears, enveloping her with its sound. Her arms were beginning to burn when she grunted once and pulled herself to the top. She had no time to study her surroundings or even catch her breath before a massive wave slammed into her chest, throwing her from the ledge and to the water below. She hung in midair, suspended long enough for a startled scream to escape her lips. Then she was falling faster and faster before the water below claimed her, knocking the wind from her lungs with bruising force. The weight of the water shoved her down, keeping her trapped below the surface. She screamed underwater when the force of the waves slammed her into the floor. Just when she thought she could take no more, there was respite enough for her to kick to the surface. She broke through, coughing and hacking, greedy for air. The current was too strong to fight; the water stung her eyes, throwing the world in a blur. She caught a brief glimpse of Hisime before the frothy water forced her away. Ignoring her instincts, Lyra forced her body to relax and let the water take her where it would.

After several minutes of being tossed back and forth, the current calmed enough for her to swim to the riverbank and heave herself onto dry land. She lay there for several moments, collecting her breath, before struggling to her feet.

"I'm okay. I'm okay." The words echoed inside her head and it wasn't until she felt her lips moving that she realized she was speaking aloud. Rubbing the water from her eyes, she sat down hard and began to take inventory of herself.

Her pants bore a large rip above the knee. Bloodied and torn skin stained the material. Her hands also bore scratches that seeped blood; still, no bones were broken and her injuries were only minor discomforts as she glanced around. Having no idea how far the current had taken her, she set off quickly, limping faintly and hoping Hisime might meet her halfway.

* * *

He didn't. To her frustration, he wasn't even by the falls. The water had quieted once more, back to its sleepy pace as though the violent waves that swept her away never existed. His hoof prints were not difficult to find, especially given the fact there were three others besides his. Though the prints were deeply encrusted in the drying mud, there was no sign of a struggle.

Lyra followed the tracks easily enough. The sun was setting, its last rays clinging to the mountains in the distance and a deeper cold began to set in. She quickened her pace to a run, hoping it would bring some feeling back into her hands and feet. Her wet clothes hung tight to her body like a second skin, chilling her blood. Just as her teeth were beginning to chatter, she spotted a small light, veiled behind a thin cover of trees.

Taking great care to keep hidden, Lyra crept forward, stepping around fallen branches and sharp stones. A massive oak tree shielded her from the fire that crackled in the clearing and the eyes of those who sat around it

"Perhaps we should help in the search." There were only two figures, both facing away from her. Even without seeing their faces, Lyra immediately knew the men were elves from their slender build and motionless grace. Relief coursed through her. She was about to step out and reveal herself when the second figure spoke.

"Legolas is out looking now." Came the unconcerned, if rather bored reply. At the sound of the voice, Lyra peered closer and fought back a groan as realization dawned on her. Erestor, one of Elrond's most trusted advisors and captains, sat nearest the fire, a book in his hands, his posture perfect even as he flipped a page.

Her extreme dislike for the man and he for her was common knowledge in Rivendell. She first met him as a girl of 9. While he and Lord Elrond were closed away in a meeting, she had stolen into Elrond's personal stash of wine, tempted by the fact that she had previously been hindered from tasting it. After finishing an entire bottle, Lord Elrond had summoned her. Head spinning and stomach heaving, she had opened her mouth to introduce herself and promptly been sick all over the captain's boots. Their relationship had not improved since then. To Lyra, it seemed as though her every move irritated the elf. She was too stubborn and opinionated. She tripped over her feet. She was sloppy and undignified. Over the years, her faults in his eyes had steadily grown.

"Still-" the unknown elf's voice pulled her back to the present.

"He will be back any moment. If he needs assistance, I have no doubt he will let us know." He said in a clipped tone.

"You're not at all worried?" The red haired elf raised an eyebrow in seeming disapproval.

"I have no doubt the girl will show up in some foolish way." Lyra glanced down at herself and winced.

If Erestor saw her like this, she would never live it down.

Unless… A plan came to mind, growing more desperate and enticing by the second. If she could steal Hisime back from under his very nose, Erestor would have to admit she had outsmarted him. Since she knew he would rather die a horrible death than admit that, Lord Elrond would also never know.

That would make her happy, very happy. Elladan and Elrohir might even congratulate her on her prowess.

Eager now, she crept backwards, a smile on her lips. Silent and purposeful, she crept around the corner to find the horses had been tied together, just out of the camp's direct sight. Upon seeing her, Hisime stomped his hoof impatiently. Glaring, she put her finger to her lips, shushing him. The reins were each attached in tight, complicated knots. Her hands, still cold from the river, refused to cooperate. Meanwhile, Hisime pushed his head against her back in a playful manner, succeeding in knocking her over. After shoving him away, she drew her dagger, ready to cut the troublesome rope away. No sooner than she had laid the metal against the leather than a voice interrupted her.

The red haired elf stood over her, his bow cocked with the tip of his arrow pointed straight at her. "What have we here?" he asked.


	3. Of Hobbits and Rangers

" _Worry is a prayer for chaos."-_ **Lisa Douthit**

* * *

"Who are you?" He repeated in that same clipped tone, as if she hadn't heard him well enough the first time. The elf had yet to lower his bow and Lyra still held the dagger frozen in her hand. If anything, he seemed to pull the string tighter.

"I-" Lyra gaped at him. "No one, just a traveler, passing through." She blurted out.

"You're not from Rivendell?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow, comparing her words to her appearance. Her skin, though pale, could be accounted by hours spent being wet and cold. Her pointed ears were hidden by a thick mane of wet and tangled hair. She was graceful with her weapons but knee deep in mud, she doubted she had appeared that way- hacking away fruitlessly at a rope that refused to cut.

Thoughts spiraling out of control, Lyra paused to consider the choices. If she admitted who she was, they would have no reason to harm her. However, she would be taken to Erestor, then Lord Elrond. Imaging their reactions as well as those of Elrohir and Elladan made up her mind.

Lyra shook her head, afraid that if she spoke, her voice would give away the lie.

"So you are trying to steal from us?" His voice was haughty once again and grated on her nerves.

"I'm not stealing. I-"

"A liar too?" Although displeased, he laid down the bow. She didn't have time to feel relieved before he grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly to her feet. Acting from reflex, Lyra grabbed the man's arm and twisted. After a hiss of pain, he released her, reaching for the knife at his side. Before he could grab hold, Lyra brought her elbow up to meet his nose. This time, his scream echoed through the forest as she felt the bone break and blood wet her sleeve. Lyra shoved him away. She didn't see him fall to the ground but heard his gasps of pain and anger. She was already busy furiously hacking away at the reins and cursing under her breath. Why was elven rope so strong?

"What's going on here?" _That_ voice bellowed behind her. She turned unwillingly, unable to hide the horror from her face.

"Why am I not surprised?" He asked, shaking his head. "Do stand up, Fondur." He snapped at the other elf whose pale skin was stained by red rivulets of blood that fell in fat drops onto the dirt.

"Your handiwork I presume?" he asked, eying her warily.

Although the comment made her bristle, she was growing more and more ashamed of her actions. Before she was able to think of a smart reply, a new figure emerged from the trees. He was taller than the others, with startlingly pale blonde hair and equally striking blue eyes. Unlike her brothers' chiseled features, this elf had a more boyish quality to his face.

"Who do we have here?" he asked, eyes flitting over the clearing, taking in each of their expressions, from the blood on Fondur to the Erestor's stormy countenance to the guilt written plainly on her face.

"Back already Legolas?" Fondur garbled, lifting a hand in greeting.

"I'm not stealing." She exclaimed to the newcomer, feeling more defensive than ever.

She thought she detected a glint of amusement in his eyes but couldn't be sure.

"That's not what I asked."

"That's my horse." She motioned to the stallion, who was pulling at the stake in the ground to get closer to her. "Erestor knows that. No doubt that is why he took him." She added, throwing a dark glance to the captain.

"Would it not have been easier for you to explain yourself?" Erestor asked, voice deceptively soft.

"I hate conversing with strangers." She smiled just as softly, hoping to annoy him. Judging from the glare he sent her, it worked.

"Surely a few words would have been preferable than this." Fondur added, his voice thick from blood. "At least for me."

"Reflex. Sorry." She said weakly.

To her surprise, the elf didn't seem angry anymore. He merely shrugged and held a piece of cloth to his nose to stem the flow.

"It has been very nice to meet you both." She nodded at Fondur and Legolas. "However, if you don't mind- I'll take my leave." She was barely able to take a few steps before Erestor seized the back of her collar, halting her.

"You will be riding with us. I need to have a talk with your father."

"What about?" she asked innocently.

"I think you know." He fixed her with a pointed look that promised disastrous consequences for her newfound freedom.

"Just who is your father?" Legolas asked her, watching their interaction with interest.

"Lord Elrond." She muttered, her mind running over the worst possibilities. Perhaps she could bargain with Erestor. Once glance at the man told her otherwise.

She wasn't paying attention to catch the surprised look in the elf's eyes or the shadow that passed over his features.

"She's adopted." Erestor explained before turning back to examine her. "Do I want to know why you are in such a state?" he asked.

She sighed heavily. "No."

"Even though you don't have the same blood, it's amazing how many of Elrohir and Elladan's- rougher features you share."

"Thank you." She grunted.

"Only you would take that as a compliment. Go on then. Mount up." He commanded. Having little choice, Lyra obeyed, pulling herself into the saddle with a grunt of pain as the wound on her knee pulled further.

The ride home was not a pleasant one. It seemed to pass in a blur and before Lyra had the chance to invent a good excuse-or any excuse- they had arrived back into the gates of Rivendell.

"Where is everyone?" Erestor muttered at the empty stables. Darkness hung over the land, taking the last remains of warmth with it. Legolas seemed to notice her shivers. He murmured something to Erestor who studied her with a critical eye.

"Go get cleaned up Lyra. Then meet your father and I in his study. Hopefully, I will have finished my report by then."

For a second, Lyra considered bargaining or begging, but her pride kept her mouth shut. She nodded stiffly before setting off down the halls.

* * *

An hour later, Lyra had washed the dirt and grime from her body and untangled the mess that had been her hair. After bandaging her knee, she pulled on clean breaches and a loose white shirt.

A sudden sharp knock at the door made her jump visibly, already tense.

To her relief, it was only a guard. "I wanted to let you know Hisime has been cared for as well as the others."

"Thank you for letting me know." She nodded.

His hand shot out, keeping her door from shutting. He cast an apologetic look her way before adding, "And I'm to escort you to meet Erestor and Lord Elrond."

She sighed. "It's alright. I knew it was coming."

To her surprise, it was only Erestor in the room. So deep in thoughts, he didn't even notice her presence until she cleared her throat.

"Lady Arwen brought a hobbit in only an hour ago, stabbed by one of the Ring-wraiths. Lord Elrond is with him now." The Captain said without any preamble.

"Ring-wraiths?" She exclaimed in shock. "Where are my brothers?"

"They were sent to help Aragorn. He has three others with him, headed to Rivendell now." He answered as he tossed another piece of wood into the fireplace.

"Which road did they take?" She demanded, already debating which weapons would be most useful. Her daggers? A sword? Spears? All of them would be smart. Better to be prepared.

"What good does it do you to know? You're not going after them." Erestor interrupted, fixing her with a critical eye.

"But I could help. The Nazgul-"

"Are vastly beyond your skill. Besides, Lord Elrond's children can take care of themselves." He added gruffly, noting the worried plainly sketched across her face. "They should be back soon. Now, we have more pressing matters to worry about. Do sit down." He ordered. Gracelessly, she sank into the chair and tried not to fidget. She knew how much that seemed to annoy him.

"Since your character and actions have not improved since the last time I saw you, I have taken it upon myself to correct them." He began.

"My character is not-"

"You attacked one of my own today." He interrupted, voice harsher than usual.

She wilted at that. "Maybe it hasn't been one of my best days. But honestly, how are we sitting here talking about this when I should be out there helping them?"

"That is what I am talking about. You are too rash. I am glad to see you acknowledge it. Now, I don't care how long it takes but we are going to sit here until we can find a solution for what ails you. I always told Lord Elrond he was too lenient on you. If you were my daughter-" No sooner than the words were out of his mouth than a loud and booming horn echoed through the halls.

"They're back." She exclaimed, jumping out of her seat and out the door before Erestor could stop her.

When she arrived, she found the courtyard full of people. She spotted one tired looking pony, surrounded by three hobbits and several elves. Despite her curiosity, she searched for two specific faces with growing fear. In the middle of the commotion, hidden by guards, she spotted her brothers, dirty and ruffled but unharmed.

"Elrohir? Elladan?" She called, running over. Both twins' attention snapped towards her, relief in their smiles.

"Lyra? You're alright." Elrohir swept her in a hug before peeling himself away. Erestor appeared behind her.

"You're really alright? Nothing strange?" They fixed her with piercing eyes.

"What do you mean?" She asked, her voice a higher pitch than normal. "I should be asking you two that." Her eyes ran over their figures, searching for injuries.

"The Ring-wraiths of course. You still weren't back. We all thought the worst." He shuddered.

"I'm fine. No Ring-wraiths, just a flood." She waved their concern away.

"At the River Bruinen?" Elladan asked, his voice filled with something Lyra couldn't identify.

"It caught me near the cliffs. So strange." She whirled on him. "Wait, how did you know?"

"Lyra." Elrohir looked like he couldn't decide whether to strangle her or burst out laughing. "Arwen was at the river. The river is how she forced those foul creatures away."

Lyra felt her mouth drop and her eyes grow wide before a wave of mortification crashed down on her.

"Oh no." She moaned, hiding her face in her hands, wishing she could disappear though the floor.

"Quite embarrassing for you little Lyra." Elrohir snickered. "Your sister almost drowns you while saving the hobbit and didn't even notice." He studied her for a silent second. "It seem as though we have underestimated you. You have quite the knack for causing trouble."

"We already knew that." His brother grunted.

"Yes, but our dear little sister has now risen to new heights." He announced, his voice loud and grating.

Surprisingly, it was Erestor who took pity on her. "Enough of that. Lyra will be punished."

"Punished?" Elrohir said indignantly. "For what? Taking a little swim?"

"No. Your sister has been making a nuisance of herself this afternoon." He barked at her brother. Even though the twins were thousands of years older than Lyra, she was glad to see Erestor still had the same affect on them.

To make matters worse, Arwen hurried in the clearing. Her eyes fell on Lyra and she gave a small cry of relief. "I was so worried." She grabbed Lyra's hands, as if assuring nothing was broken. "I had no idea-" and broke off when she heard her brothers snicker behind her, causing Lyra to grow a steadily darker shade of red. Arwen sent them an uncharacteristically harsh look.

"If I had know-" The guilt on her face was a stab to Lyra's pride.

"I'm fine Arwen. Erestor found me and-took care of me." She spit the words out, if only for her sister's sake.

"And we thought you might be in a better mood after seeing Aragorn." Elrohir pointed out.

At that Lyra brightened. "He's here?"

"He's with father." Arwen explained. If her sister was able to blush, Lyra thought she would be doing a lot of it right now.

"Speaking of your father-" Erestor began.

"Perhaps we might wait until tomorrow." She tried.

"You're not getting out of this one Lyra." He warned.

"I know. I know. But I'm sure father is weary after his healing. At least let him rest a little while before we add me to his problems."

He considered that for a moment. "Very well but tomorrow, we will discuss this."

She nodded. "It doesn't seem as important anymore, with everything that's going on."

"Ring-wraiths near Rivendell. What's the world coming to?" Arwen murmured, taking her leave of the group to no doubt locate a ragged ranger.

* * *

Hours later and Rivendell seemed to quiet once more. There was a sense of uncertainty behind closed doors. Voices seemed to whisper to one another then fade away. Lyra could only grasp snippets of conversation that made no sense to her. Elrohir and Elladan spoke of a meeting. Guards exchanged loaded glances. More than anything, the not knowing was driving Lyra crazy. She needed distraction and found it when she caught glimpse of a figure striding towards her from the balcony.

"Aragorn!" She squealed and threw herself at the ranger, who swept her up in a hug, laughing.

"You got too big for this years ago." He complained as he set her down, feigning injury. She smacked him on the arm, giggling nonetheless.

"The hobbit is doing better?" She questioned and taking his arm, led him towards the kitchens, after hearing his stomach let loose a ferocious growl. He allowed himself to be steered as easily as always.

Relief was palpable in his face. "I thought we lost him. Arwen too." He sighed.

"Father is the best healer in Middle Earth. He might be offended if he knew you had such little faith in his abilities." He grinned at that. "Arwen as well. She is stronger than she looks. You should know that better than most." She gently rebuked him.

Perhaps it was merely her imagination, but she got the feeling he did not wish to speak of Arwen any longer and quickly turned the topic to training, one he was assured she would devour. They made their way to the higher levels slowly, their words and laughter echoing through the halls in their wake, their presence comfortable as old friends.

"Things should be exciting around here the next few days, with your and the hobbits' arrival. They are fascinating."

He glanced at her in amusement. "Leave it to you to turn something as simple as a hobbit into a fascinating creature. Ever the curious one."

"I just enjoy the company is all." She replied easily.

"We shall have more of it soon enough I should say." He hinted darkly.

"Because they have been summoned?" she asked, studying him closely for a reaction.

Aragorn's eyes flitted to hers. "How did you-" he paused before growling, "your brothers."

"Why shouldn't I know after all?" she tugged on his arm.

Choosing to ignore her question, he murmured, "I suppose I cannot blame you for craving company when you are stuck with their presence." He joked for Lyra knew that Aragorn held real compassion for the twins, even though they did at times exasperate him.

"Forgive me Lyra but I need to take care of things tonight. Tomorrow, I fear I won't have the time."

"Always the mysterious one Aragon." She joked, releasing him. "Perhaps I can find one of the hobbits." She said hopefully.

Aragorn smirked. "I would guess either the gardens or the kitchens. Food and plants seem to be their weaknesses."

True to his word, Lyra found one of the hobbits sitting amidst the gardens, a half eaten loaf of bread and a pint of beer keeping him company. He was slightly chubby, with red curls that seemed to stick out in every direction.

"Hello." She said in greeting, the silence of her approach making him jump to his feet and whirl around. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He only nodded, his eyes wide and uncertain.

"I didn't mean to frighten you." Her smile began to fade. "What shall I call you?" she finally asked, when it was clear he would say nothing.

"I am Samwise Gamgee." He replied with a faint blush, causing her to smile. She didn't mind his curiosity. In truth, she had been studying him as openly as he did her. "If I might ask your name, my lady."

"Lyra." She grinned and stuck her hand out. After a moment of hesitation he took it and shook.

"Shall we sit?" she motioned to a marbled bench nearby.

Statues of figures both old and young stretched above them, as though protecting the pair from evil eyes. The tree branches looked almost blue in the cool light. Hundreds of fireflies sparkled over the water. Lyra had always preferred the small creatures' shine to that of jewels. Soft green moss and red leaves rested at their feet.

"This is one of my favorite places in Rivendell." She remarked, attempting to put the hobbit at ease. "Do you like flowers?" she asked him.

"All hobbit like flowers. We like anything that grows really." He leaned against a tree trunk directly behind him and seemed to take a calming breath and settle.

"Forgive me. I've never met a hobbit."

"Really?" he looked surprised. "I've never met an elf." He pondered that for a moment. "That is except Lady Arwen and Lord Elrond and the two whose names I can't remember rightly now."

She laughed at that. "You must mean Elrohir and Elladan. It seems you know quite a few already."

He grinned at her teasing. "Perhaps I will have to introduce you to some hobbits then so we can be even."

They were interrupted by loud voices that were steadily growing closer.

"No Pippin, don't eat that berry. It might be dangerous."

"It doesn't look dangerous though." Another answered him, his voice despondent. "Look at the color."

"How many times have I told you not to eat things you don't recognize? I thought you would have learned from the last time when-" he broke off as they rounded the corner and stopped the pair.

Two more hobbits, both with sandy brown hair bowed somewhat stiffly, giving Lyra the impression that they were not used to having lords and ladies in the Shire. The thought endeared them to her. Smiling, she curtsied, and then swept her skirts aside.

"Perhaps you would like to join Master Samwise and I." She offered, not missing the incredulous looks they cast their fellow hobbit's way or the way his chest puffed out in reply.

An hour later, several jokes and no small amount of pipe weed had finally put the hobbits at ease.

"You're easy to talk to, for an elf." Pippin remarked, blowing a smoke ring into the night sky.

"Pippin." Merry chastised him, causing the little hobbit's face to fall in confusion.

"I didn't meant to imply-" he began, looking worried.

Lyra did not give him the opportunity to feel bad a moment longer for she giggled outright then. "Perhaps it is because I am only half elf."

"I had noticed you're not quite as tall as the others!" Pippin cried in glee. She wondered if coming from a hobbit, that was a compliment. She decided to take it as such. Their laughter carried long into the night as they spoke of light and carefree things that would never matter in the grand scheme of the world, things hobbits liked best. Already, Lyra felt she would miss their company, having no idea just how far their paths were to cross.


	4. The First Fracture

" _It's a dangerous mission. You could die out there. You could go on forever."-_ **Tess Gallagher**

* * *

Over the next several days, the strangest of visitors poured into Rivendell. Elves, from those clearly regal to those who looked as if they had spent months on the road joined Legolas and Erestor. Dwarves, who tended to keep to their own company, Lyra only glimpsed from afar. They blundered through Rivendell with more force and sound than any others in Lyra's memory. Men arrived as well, from Gondor as those as far as Minas Tirith. They wore shining armor and carried massive shields that Lyra disliked on sight. She wondered how any man could move in battle carrying around such weight.

To her dismay, no more hobbits arrived. Although she often met Pippin, Merry, and Sam- the fourth, Frodo had yet to wake. Lord Elrond was not worried so she decided not to as well. They each took turns sitting by his still form. Lyra read aloud to him-books of history, poetry and weapons since she had no idea what subject the little hobbit was interested in. She had thought to ask Sam but whenever Frodo's name was mentioned his skin would pale to an awful ghostly shade, even though many assured him of the hobbit's returning strength. He adopted a constant vigil at Frodo's side, stubbornly refusing to leave. Many mornings Lyra would find the red haired hobbit asleep and snoring, with his hairy feet propped up on the table.

It was good that the hobbits were such fair company for Lyra spent most of her time amidst them. The night after Erestor and Legolas arrived, there had been a large feast held in honor of the newcomers. The dinner had slipped her mind and she had been the last to arrive. To her horror, she had stumbled into the room in her haste, calling everyone's attention to her.

"Sit with us Lyra." Pippin had called loudly, waving her over, completely ignorant of her embarrassment.

"I believe that's my seat." Elrohir claimed, and settled himself down beside the hobbit. "What's wrong? Am I not as pretty as my sister?"

The hobbits had laughed at that, as Pippin grew more and more red.

"I believe your seat is here lass." A stout looking dwarf announced. Having never actually spoken to a dwarf before, she sat somewhat awkwardly beside him.

"Thanks you Master Dwarf." On the other side of her was Legolas who had spared her one look before turning and whispering to Aragorn. Across the table was Erestor and at the head sat Lord Elrond.

"I am Gimli, son of Gloin." He bowed to her before hopping onto the seat once more, still too tall to be completely at ease.

"Gloin? One of the dwarves who traveled with Thorin to retake Erebor?" She blushed at the dwarf's astounded expression. "I've heard many stories."

"At least there's one elf here with a sense of history." He said gruffly, lifting his glass to toast her.

"She is only half elf." Legolas commented before Gimli could begin his tales. From the way he said it, Lyra was sure it was meant as no compliment.

"I take it you have a problem with my origin?" She had asked, attempting to keep a smile on her face and failing.

"I have no issue with that specific part of you." He said in clipped words.

"So it's just the rest of me you dislike then?" She grit out. Lyra was not aware that both Aragorn and Gimli were studying the way she and Legolas leaned in closer to the other or that their expressions grew darker with every word.

"That is to be decided still." His voice was as expressionless as his face but Lyra got the distinct feeling he both angry with her and mocking her.

"What have I done to-"

"Have you already forgotten that you attacked one of my men?" He asked, his irritation causing his voice to rise. Others paused in their conversation, as the room grew still and silent.

"What is this then?" Elrond asked.

For the first time, Legolas had seemed to realize they had an audience. "My apologies my Lord. It is nothing of consequence."

"Lyra." Elrond's voice was harsh. "Do explain."

"I didn't really attack them, we just had an unusual encounter." She muttered, her voice small. Erestor regarded her with what she swore was a smirk. To her surprise, he only shook his head and continued to eat.

After a pregnant pause, Elrond had turned to address the entire room.

"Do excuse us. It seems I need to speak with my daughter." Elrond seemed to grow even taller than before as he stood and she was loath to follow him.

"Excuse me." She muttered to the dwarf who gave her a small pat on the arm. Unable to control herself, she gave Legolas' chair a push with her hip as she brushed past.

He led her to his study before closing the door and turning to regard her with piercing eyes.

"Would I be correct in assuming this has an impact on my being allowed to scout?" she asked. The noise of conversation from down the hall had once again grown loud. She only hoped they weren't taking about her.

"What do you think?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I think we need scouting more than ever. I may have made a mistake but-"

"I need elves I can trust Lyra." There was regret in his voice and something else that made her heart beat faster.

"Are you saying you can't trust me?" The realization stung as she knotted her fingers in her shirt.

"You tell me. Did you let your pride lead you to unsavory consequences today?"

He took her silence as an answer. "I don't know what's been wrong with you lately. You don't listen to me anymore."

Unable to answer him or look him in the eye, he had let her go, both clearly unsatisfied with the other.

Since that night, she had not spoken to Legolas again. When she saw him with others or often at the training fields she would hurriedly walk the other way. It seemed he had the same idea. Unfortunately, he was often with Aragorn so that limited her interaction with the Ranger. The days passed more slowly than ever, seeming to stretch on without end. She grew impatient and jittery, with each night coming earlier and lasting longer then the one before.

* * *

Lyra opened her eyes to a dark room. The thick dust of paper hung heavy in the air, clouding her smell. Shadows flickered through from the night outside. She tried to turn and catch a glimpse of the clouds but the room had no windows, no door. Her mind had grown thick and fuzzy as she tried to remember where she was. Everything seemed to turn on its head as she looked beside her. A dark glass ball hovered in the air, thin veins of fire swimming through from its heart. It called to her softly, gently. She took a step forward, the beauty of it beckoned closer and closer. The air in the room had grown frigid but the glass ball gave off heat. Ice hung in the air and her movements had grown slow and clumsy as the cold seeped into her blood.

Almost reverently, she placed her fingertips on it. From the heart of the glass, a fire began to boil. She tried to pull away as it grew hotter and hotter but her fingers refused to do so much as twitch. The heat encased first the glass then her arms and fed on her body, traveling from her arms to her chest and neck. She screamed as the fire burned her alive. Blood poured from every inch of her skin until she was falling, melting into nothing. The last thing she saw was a fiery eye and then everything went black.

Lyra woke with a start, cold and shaking, unable to draw any breath in. It was several minutes before she could hear anything over the insistent pounding of her heartbeat. Her room seemed to tear at her, the shadows remnants of those in her nightmare. With shaking fingers, she slipped into a hood and coat and pulled her boots on.

It was easy to pass unnoticed through the halls. Almost everyone except for the guards were asleep or otherwise engaged. She knew every post and slipped through the darkness unseen. Waking Hisime was easy. He seemed to note her nerves and allowed himself to be led away in the middle of the night. In the back of her mind, she realized it wasn't smart to wander alone with recent incidents. If Lord Elrond found out, there were sure to be grim consequences. She doubted she would see daylight for months. Still, the darkness within Rivendell and her dreams seemed more persistent than any other outside. Panic made her breaths hurried and uneven.

In only a few moments, they were out and away. Hisime wandered through the woods unchecked. Lyra let him walk where he wished, with no destination in mind. The trees were quiet around her. She wasn't sure how much time had passed but eventually she stopped Hisime in a small field. Dismounting, she propped herself against a tree and lay down in the grass, slightly damp with dew. Stars filled the black sky, glistening against the darkness, all crowded together. Occasionally, one would sweep across the sky until it disappeared from sight.

Even though the forest was silent, she could feel life around her. It soothed her frayed nerves until she found herself close to sleep, eyelids drooping until they closed completely. A crash in the underbrush startled her to awareness. It could have been a minute or an hour later, she had no way to tell. It came again, closer this time. Slowly she stood and peeked around the massive trunk, peering into the thick shadows, hoping a deer or squirrel would be the cause.

One dark figure, hooded and cloaked, quivered in the shadows several feet away.

As quietly as possible, she knelt to grab her bow. With shaking fingers, she drew an arrow and fitted it to the string.

"Ring wraiths." She cursed under her breath. The footsteps were growing closer now, crunching over the dead leaves. Perhaps if she was fast enough, she could shoot it enough to distract it and run. She knew her arrows would do little damage but she only needed enough time to reach Hisime. Steeling herself, she threw herself from cover and swung her bow to meet the towering shape now only a few feet away.

Instead of the dark cloaks of a Ring Wraith, she saw a familiar wide pointed hat and bushy beard. If not for her elvish eyesight, she would have shot him.

She laughed loudly in half relief and half anger. "Gandalf you old fool. I almost killed you." She rebuked the grey wizard who had slumped to the ground in what Lyra had guessed was sudden shock. It was only when she saw the blood staining his hair that she crouched beside him in worry.

"Gandalf, what's happened to you?" Her eyes flitted over the old man, skimming over his arms and chest for breaks. He only shook his head and gave a small rasp. Running over to Hisime, she tore the flask away.

"Here Gandalf. Drink." She brought it to his lips. The old man's knotted fingers held to her for support.

"The Eagles." His voice was a harsh whisper. "Brought me."

"We need to get you to Elrond." Grunting, she pulled him to his feet before helping him mount the horse. She climbed up behind me, her arms barely stretching around his waist to keep the old man on the horse. She doubted he would have enough strength or awareness for much longer.

"Home Hisime. Quickly."

The stallion snorted, bunched his muscles together and set off, galloping through the forest, his hooves eating the dark ground beneath them. Lyra kept her eyes peeled to the dark sky for sign of the enemy. Even now, she felt hooded eyes watching her. Hisime's hooves were not he only noises she heard. The forest seemed to come alive around her, every branch breaking, every bird calling signaled danger. Gandalf muttered under his breath, and other than her name, Lyra couldn't understand the mumbled sounds.

Since the attack of the Ring-wraiths, more guards had been posted along the borders. So, it was no secret when she arrived in the middle of the night with windswept hair and the wizard barely able to stand. Several elves ran up to help her. Together, they could carry Gandalf inside, but the wizard refused to let go of her arm. Unable to speak, he had stared into her eyes, as if trying to communicate something. Lyra wondered if he could even recognize her in his state. Finally, his weight made her collapse on the ground. Panting, she shook her head at the other elves trying to rouse the old man.

"Get my father." Nodding once, a guard ran off.

* * *

"You weren't supposed to be out Lyra." An hour later found Lyra once again standing before Lord Elrond, this time unabashed.

"If I hadn't, Gandalf-"

"Would be fine I am sure. The wizard has lifetimes of knowledge." He cut her off.

"And the hobbit? What excuse does he have?" She asked.

"The hobbit did not defy my orders. Besides, he has strength in him." There was gruff admiration there.

"I don't then?" She clenched her fist until her knuckles turned white.

"Why must you compare yourself to everyone else?" Frustration leaked into his words.

"Because you do. Father, you might think it's alright for these evil things to happen to everyone except me. If there is to be a war-"

"Why would you think that?" he swirled to face her.

"Because everything points to it. There were Ring-wraiths mere miles away from our home. Gandalf has been attacked by something equally powerful, maybe even more so. Not to mention the hobbit-" she fought the urge to throw her hands into the air. Did he really think she was this inattentive?

"What does the hobbit have to do with this?" his voice was soft and dangerous.

"I suspect he has everything to do with it." She said honestly after a long pause. "I'm just not sure how yet."

Lord Elrond only shook his head, as if wiping away a bad memory. "Our time here is almost over Lyra. You know this. Soon, we will leave." He gazed outside. The night was still dark and now clouds covered the stars.

"You've told me that for years." She said, exasperated.

"This time, it is true. Arwen knows this as well." Even though he was faced away from her, Lyra thought his shoulders tightened at that.

Lyra gaped. "But Aragorn-" Now she realized why Arwen had been distant and reserved recently.

"Will let her go. She knows what she must do." He was tired, she realized. Still, she pushed on, albeit with a pang of guilt.

"What have I done to deserve the Undying Lands? Others fight and die against the shadow and I sit here in safety doing nothing." Her voice began to shake with emotion.

"Enough of this. You are being a child." He commanded, growing livid.

"Why do we still protect this land then? We fight and even die to keep evil away, to keep this place sacred." She challenged.

"Middle Earth is no longer our responsibility." He brushed her concern away.

"I will not leave as if nothing here matters just because it is no longer mine. If I cannot have Middle Earth for myself, I can make it safe for others."

"I will not hear anymore of this. You will leave with your family." His words were biting now, an undercurrent of warning in them.

"I will not." The words were out of her mouth before she realized. She could only watch their affect on her father. His face paled as shock faded to anger.

"Then you will die here?" The words felt cruel but Lyra recognized the fairness in them. Lord Elrond was always honest and never cruel. She knew how desperate he must feel if he was trying to scare her into changing her mind.

"I will not be a coward." She felt close to tears but refused to let them fall.

"You speak noble words but you have had no taste of war. It is easy to think you would fight and die for those you love while safely hidden away. If you wish to leave, I cannot protect you anymore. No one can."

She stopped to consider his words. It was true she didn't know death intimately. Elves were immortal and she had never witnessed the death of her own kind. The only bloodshed she witnessed was that of orcs and even those, precious few. She didn't want to be part of a war but not being part of one seemed even worse.

"I'll protect myself. You've taught me, as well as Elrohir and Elladan. I can do this." She took his hands in hers. As he gazed down at her, the elf truly looked his age, with the fate of a race resting on his shoulders. He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly.

Before he could reply, a familiar wizard hobbled in, leaning heavily on his staff. Elrohir walked beside him with a watchful eye.

Elrond seemed to rouse himself from a stupor and turned to welcome his old friend.

"Gandalf, you're feeling better?" To her dismay, her voice shook. In all her life, she had never seen the wizard so weak and vulnerable. He gave her a warm smile of understanding.

"Almost completely." He took a seat. "However, we have more important things to speak of than my health."

"Who did this to you Gandalf?" Elrohir asked from beside her.

The wizard closed his eyes and took a deep pause. "Saruman." He finally answered, his voice sour.

"Why would he-" Elrohir began, shock etched in his face.

"He has fallen in league with the enemy." Gandalf's voice was full of regret and bitterness.

"How could this happen?" Elrond asked the wizard, emotion once again wiped from his face.

"He knows about Frodo but there's something else he wants, something he was trying to keep from me." His eyes fell on Lyra.

"You seemed to want to say something to me before." She felt pressed to ask under the wizard's scrutinizing eyes.

"Perhaps it is best we speak alone." He said, finally looking away from her to the elf lord. Elrond merely nodded.

"Elrohir, take Lyra back to her rooms." Lyra turned to glance at her brother. His silent approach had gone unnoticed by her. His hand settled on the small of her back, steering her out of the large chamber and down the stairs.

"Why can't I be there? It's obvious they're talking about me." She hissed when they were far enough from the room to assure both could no longer hear her.

"You're too paranoid little sister." Still, his eyes were uncertain even as he tried to convince her.

"Father was angry last week." She decided to confront the other subject that was most prevalent on her mind. Elrohir shrugged. "More than usual." She clarified. "He still hasn't forgiven me for it and now I've disappointed him again."

"You're an adult now, by human standards at least. Father just doesn't want to see you that way." His fingers brushed over the knife strapped to his side and Lyra could tell his mind was still mulling over the conversation with Gandalf.

It was this knowledge that gave Lyra the courage to stumbled through her next question.

"I know he loves me but do you-do you think he is still proud of me? He's right. I don't listen to him like I used to." She admitted.

Elrohir turned to her at that. "Eventually, you have to stop looking to please others and think of what you want."

For the first time in a long time, Lyra felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Elrohir stopped and turned to study her. "Lyra, father will always be proud of you. We all are." His hand ruffled her hair before he laughed and hugged her close. "You are a silly thing."

So caught in her thoughts, she didn't notice Legolas until he cleared his throat.

"I heard Gandalf is here." His words were directed to Elrohir even as he glanced at her red-rimmed eyes.

"He is speaking to Lord Elrond-alone." Lyra sniffed.

"I see. Could you tell me where the blacksmith is? I was speaking to someone the other day about-" he began, somewhat uncertainly, studying her again.

"I can take you there. First, I need to escort Lyra to her rooms." Elrohir offered.

"What has she done now?" his eyes swung to hers, full of accusation. She felt herself turn red at his obvious mistrust.

"She has done nothing except save the old wizard." It was unusual to see Elrohir's voice and eyes so cold, especially directed at another elf because of her.

She tugged on his arm. "You can go. I'll just head to my room now."

"Father said-"

"I'll go straight there. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble just because I am." She promised.

Elrohir's lips quirked into a grin, "How grown up you are. Years ago, you would make up lies to father about me if I told him what you'd been up to."

Giggling, she swatted at his head, which he easily dodged. She turned to find Legolas considering her with confused expression.

"Good night then." She fought a yawn, her lack of sleep beginning to take its toll.

True to her word, she had shut herself in her rooms. Although her eyes fought to close and the deep pull of sleep beckoned her, she remained awake for several hours, watching the flame of a candle burn its way down the wick.

When she woke, the light had just begun to seep into the sky. There was a knock on her door. She opened it to find Elrohir with a wide smile on his face.

"Frodo is awake."


	5. Subtle Warnings

" _Many have died; you also will die. The drum of death is being beaten. The world has fallen in love with a dream."_ **-Kabir**

* * *

Even though Lord Elrond had assured those in his house many times over that the young hobbit would be all right, it still came as a surprise to many when Frodo Baggins did indeed wake. Gandalf had been sitting by him, almost as if he were aware of the exact time the hobbit would open his eyes.

She was glad, for although Sam, Merry, and Pippin seemed to find themselves at home in Rivendell, she knew it must be a shock for the Frodo to wake in such a strange place. For several hours, Lord Elrond and Gandalf had spoken with the hobbit about secret things that burned her mind. It was fast approaching nightfall and still Lyra had not caught sight of him.

"Gandalf made him rest for a bit longer." Sam explained. "He still seemed tired and his shoulder-" he broke off with an unhappy expression.

"Frodo will be fine Sam." She laid her hand on his back. "There are not many who face the Nazgul and come away with their life."

"Speaking of Frodo, he should be well enough to take his meal with the rest of us. I don't doubt he will appreciate a chance to stretch his legs." Gandalf noted, hobbling into the room and leaning heavily on his staff. The wizard had made a quick recovery as befitting someone of his race. Still, an invisible weight had settled itself on his shoulders. She had thought it was only worry for the wellbeing of Frodo but now that he was awake, his burden only seemed to increase.

"I'll get him." She exclaimed, louder than she intended. The hobbits regarded her curiously but Gandalf merely nodded before sinking into a chair and stared at the wall, deep in thought. He had become more distracted than usual as of late, studying maps and even her when he thought she wasn't looking.

"I still haven't met him-while he is conscious that is." She explained, before excitingly setting off down the halls at a jog.

A clear voice answered Lyra's knock. "Come in."

Frodo was already up, sitting on the edge of the bed. His curly hair was ruffled as he had just shrugged into the tunic that was far too large for his small frame. His hairy feet hung off the side of the bed, swinging back and forth. At her entrance, they stilled.

She approached him slowly, almost shyly, "Hello. My name is Lyra." She said, fascinated by how large and blue his eyes were.

He stood and gave her a slight bow. "Frodo Baggins at your service."

"It's strange to hear your voice after all this time." She remarked.

"Do I sound odd?" He tilted his head to the side in question.

"No. I've ben reading to you for so long and I guess I've imagined your voice in my head." She gave a light laugh at her childishness. Lyra caught a glimpse of something that glittered as it caught a brief ray of sunlight.

"What's that?" She asked, peering closer. Curiosity and something else pulled her forward. She swore she could hear a low voice whispering from the shadows.

Frodo stared at her with wide eyes. With great care, Lyra wretched her eyes away from the gold ring that hung so innocently on his neck, warming his skin. She could feel its heat from across the room and took a step towards the hobbit, almost against her will. It was the fear in his eyes, the way he scampered back that snapped her to awareness. She shook her head, suddenly dizzy, as if a forgotten memory had sent her reeling.

"I came to bring you to dinner. We were not sure if you felt well enough." She offered, taking a step back and gesturing towards the hall.

The intensity of the moment was broken by a loud growl that turned out to be the hobbit's stomach.

"I am pretty hungry." He relented, following her out the door and into the gardens. Still, she noticed that he kept throwing distrustful glances up at her.

"How do you like Rivendell so far?" She attempted a stab at conversation.

"When I look at it, I feel like I'm still dreaming. The Shire is beautiful but this is something beyond beauty." He seemed to realize his words and blushed slightly.

"It is true. Rivendell is unlike most places. I have been told much of the Shire from your companions. I admit it sounds appealing." She trailed her fingers over the ivy that grew up and over the old stonewalls.

"It is home." He said simply, wistfully. "Still, it's nothing like this. There's a sort if age and wisdom here the Shire lacks." Frodo trailed off again before snapping back to awareness, "However, it makes up for that in the green fields and rivers." He turned to give her an easy smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "There is beauty in simplicity, yes?"

"If only all things could be so simple." She didn't realize the bitterness that had leaked into her voice until she saw it in the hobbit's eyes. She wondered how she must seem to him, a half elf, younger even than him. Perhaps he saw her as spoiled or silly.

"I am told Lady Arwen is your sister." He said, after a moment of brief silence. They paused by the fountains and Frodo watched as she stretched her hand out to catch the falling water. The spray soaked her sleeve but she didn't care. He wasn't quite like the other hobbits, not as shy as Sam or as energetic as Pippin. Lyra got the feeling he was thoughtful for his years, older than he should be.

"Yes. Well, adopted but I feel as though we share the same blood."

"And Elrohir and Elladan would be your brothers then." he concluded.

She grinned impishly. "Unfortunately."

He laughed a little at that before turning serious. "Lady Arwen saved my life and your brothers saved those of my friends."

"Perhaps I shall save your life one day." She didn't know what made her say it but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she had the strangest feeling of deja'vu.

"I should hope not. I don't plan to put my life in such great peril again." He murmured, seemingly unsure himself.

"Few who have adventures plan them. Many who wish for them never get them."

"I take it you wish for them?" he asked, eyes thoughtful. Perhaps it was due to his uncle's adventure that made him less inclined to hate the idea altogether. "Elves are very unlike hobbits in that regard. Truthfully, I am curious of other places but after this journey, I'm not sure I want to see anymore." He admitted.

"I don't think I'm like most elves. At least, not most of my family." She brushed drops of water from her hands. "I'm still figuring out what I want I suppose, or at least how to get it."

"But Rivendell is everything you could every want." He remarked, with awe in his eyes that Lyra had seen countless times before. No matter how far one traveled in Middle Earth, there was nothing quite like Rivendell. But witnessing perfection daily tended to lessen the wonder.

She paused to consider his words. "Maybe you're right. Sometimes, I feel like I'm being silly. Rivendell is beautiful and I have a family."

"But?" he asked, noting the hesitation in her voice.

"But I wonder what else it out there, so far past where I've gone before. I wonder if people live and think the same as me. I wonder how I would be different, if I would change…" she murmured.

The sun's dying light snapped Lyra back to the present. Dinner. Why was she talking to someone she had only just met about such intimate thoughts?

"Forgive me." She said blushing. "I fear I've talked too much."

"I don't mind. It's nice to have someone to speak of these things to." Realizing he spoke the truth, she smiled back.

* * *

"Pippin, don't point that at Merry." Lyra's voice was shrill in the early morning as she caught a glimpse of one mischievous hobbit aiming his bow at another.

"I wasn't going to shoot." He argued but nonetheless lowered the arrow.

"If you had slipped, I doubt Merry would have thanked you." She called over.

"Really Pippin." Merry attempted to wrestle the arrow out from Pippin's hand in anger. Soon, they ended up tangled on the ground and snorts of laughter replaced any angry cries. Lyra grinned in spite of herself. It was true she had to keep a watchful eye to make sure none of the hobbits killed the other, but really, it wasn't so bad. She turned her attention back to Sam who like her, was busy giving the two cousins a disapproving gaze.

"You have to hold it steady for a moment when you draw the arrow back. Control your breathing." She coached as once again, Sam struggle to tug the string all the way back to graze his cheek. Huffing, he held it there, straining with one eye shut tight and the other glaring at the target in the distance.

"Don't hold your breath." She chided, trying not to laugh. He let his breath out with a whoosh along with the arrow. It sailed high over the target and disappeared into the woods.

"It was closer that time." She remarked quite calmly.

"I'll never be any good at this weapon stuff." He snorted to Frodo who stood watching behind them. "Gardening and growing- those are my gifts."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You only need practice. Everyone is bad when they begin." She encouraged him.

At her words, a high-pitched hum reached their ears. All four hobbits turned to stare at Legolas, who had also been practicing further down the field. She ground her teeth and refused to give into the temptation to look. There was no reason to anyway. Doubtless another bulls eye.

"I wonder who is better- you or Legolas." Pippin wondered aloud. She heard a snicker, too low for the hobbits to catch and turned red.

"I have not had the privilege of two thousand years of practice. I am sure when anyone reaches that age, they would be a master in their own right." She turned to Sam, who still looked gloomy. "Even you Sam."

He brightened at that as Merry and Pippin joined them.

"Still, I don't think I'll have much use for any of this, at least I hope not." He said, once again giving testament to the hobbit's aversion to weapons that was a complete puzzle to Lyra.

"It's always best to be prepared." She drew the remaining arrows from her quiver with practiced grace and honed skill.

"You could stay for awhile to practice." She offered, trying not to appear too eager. "I am sure Lord Elrond would not mind."

While Merry and Pippin praised such an excellent idea, Sam glanced at Frodo. The blue-eyed hobbit merely stared at her, an unknown question in his eyes. Not for the first time, Lyra wondered what weight seemed to weigh on the hobbit, checking his smile. Her eyes glanced once again to the chain around his neck. This time when he noticed her stare, it was not one of fear but of disappointment.

* * *

The next morning, Lyra found herself huddled with two hobbits pressed up close to her.

"Remember you have to be silent." While Merry drank up every word she said, Pippin's eyes were already glued to the hall's entrance. He craned his neck until she snapped her finger in front of his face. "And you must be quick." Merry and Pippin both nodded.

"And you must-"

"Relax Lyra. We do this all the time." Merry brushed a piece of lint from his collar, the picture of seeming sophistication.

"You steal from two elven captains all the time?"

"Close enough to it."

"They won't kill-er hurt us will they?" Pippin's voice shook, which he tried to cover up with a cough.

"They won't if you don't get caught." At his hesitant expression, Lyra scowled at him. "Do you want to prove Elrohir right? It's your fault we're here in the first place."

A simple weapons discussion from the night before had led them to their current predicament. It had begun as a surprisingly calm night. The hobbits had all lounged around after dinner with Lyra. She had grown used to the smell of their pipe weed. It was almost comforting the way they blew large smoke rings that danced in the night air before evaporating into the air. She was surprised to discover Gandalf had quite the affection for both the hobbit's pipe weed and their company. Almost as if they had conjured him from air, he appeared and settled himself down beside the small group. An hour later, after their laughter had reached new heights, Elrohir and Elladan decided to join them. This had led Lyra to using Elladan lap as a headrest as she argued amiably with Elrohir about the recent shipment of arrows that had been brought just that morning.

"Do you never tire of talking about weapons?" Pippin piped up.

"Perhaps you should take more of an interest. I only glimpsed a moment of your bow practice this morning and that was painful enough." Elladan shook with silent laughter at his twin's remark.

Having grown used to Elrohir's constant teasing and amused to see it directed as someone other than her for once, Lyra and Gandalf had joined in. Even Frodo smiled in contentment. Pippin however, normally one of good humor merely scowled. Lyra knew the truth had prickled him. She had yet to find another being who was worse than the little hobbit in aggression of any kind.

"You elves may be master of weapons but there is nothing sneakier than a hobbit." He claimed, climbing to his feet.

"That doesn't quite sound like a compliment to us Pip." Sam pointed out.

"Perhaps you should say we are silent and sly or discreet." Frodo added.

"You make us sound like thieves." Merry concluded.

"Your Uncle was a burglar." Gandalf pointed out, his eyes growing misty with memory. "I remember when I first-"

"You are all a thousand and I can hear your bones creak when you sit down." Pippin interrupted Gandalf, too busy pointing his finger at the twins to notice the glare the wizard sent him.

Elrohir looked mildly shocked by the hobbits' outburst. "That's ridiculous." Elrohir sneered. "And I'm still young."

"A wager then?" A foolhardy light shone in Pippin's eyes, one she had seen often enough in the twins' to identify immediately.

"Pippin, I'm not sure-" she began.

"Enough little sister." Elrohir waved her away before fixing Pippin with determined eyes. "What kind of wager?"

Everything was going fine. Lyra decided to take the silence above as good news anyway. Merry had gone off to keep watch at the main entrance. Lyra had finally managed to shove Pippin into Elrohir's chambers, as he dragged his feet the entire time. Leaving him there, Lyra ran outside, staring up at the large balcony directly above her. It was all going so well until a certain blonde haired elf showed up, his eyes just as surprised and disappointed to see her as she was to see him. In the same moment, Lyra's ears caught sound of a rather poorly done birdcall that served as Merry's warning. Desperate, she grabbed Legolas' arm and hauled him towards her, around the tree and out of sight.

"What are you doing here?" she scowled, her voice low.

"I am walking." His eyes were wide and still suspicious. "What are you doing?" He whispered back without seeming to realize it.

"Nothing." It must have been the guilt in her eyes or the lie he heard from her lips because he frowned once before looking around the area, searching.

When he failed to find anything out of place, he studied her again. "Shall I ask the twins then?"

Before she could think of an excuse, a dull creak sounded from above.

She knelt on the ground, taking cover behind a low tangled bush. He merely stared down at her, looking at her as though she had lost her mind. She grabbed and tugged on his hand with impatience. He was immovable. "Oh, do get down." She whined.

Rolling his eyes, he knelt next to her, much more gracefully than she had managed.

"Should I even ask what you plan to do?"

"It's nothing bad." She muttered, her voice breaking off as she caught a glimpse of Elrohir appear above them. His eyes trailed over the horizon before disappearing inside again.

"Alright." She released him. "You can go now." She called, already back under the balcony, her fingers twitching with impatience.

To her annoyance, instead of leaving quickly, he lingered and trailed behind her.

"I said you could leave." She hissed as loudly as she dared.

"I heard you. I am an elf after all."

She rolled her eyes at that. Only seconds later, a head popped out between the bars of the balcony. Pippin's face was flushed and sweat gleamed on his forehead, making his thick curls stick to his neck.

"Lyra." Pippin whispered. "Where is he?"

"Just throw it Pip." It was difficult not to hop up and down in excitement.

"Don't hurt yourself." He warned before releasing the hilt of Elrohir's dagger.

She opened her hand ready to catch it before it disappeared as though it had been snatched by an invisible force from the air.

She turned to find Legolas holding the dagger with his long fingers, studying the knife. "Are you stealing?"

"I'm borrowing it." She reached for it and blinked. It was already in his other hand. A scream from above brought their conversation to a halt. Pippin was squealing as though his very life was being threatened. Elrohir had appeared without a sound, seized the hobbit and was busy searching him. After giving a growl of displeasure, he finally noticed Lyra and Legolas below, especially the familiar dagger that Legolas was currently holding.

"Give it back." She hurriedly commanded.

"Why should I?" He asked. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a thread of amusement underneath his bored expression.

"Don't give it to her Legolas." Elrohir shouted, before running from the room.

"Because-because I said so." She jumped, trying to grab the hilt but he was much taller than her and she pushed her now loose hair from her face with a growl.

"You're being annoying on purpose." She accused.

"Your lack of height is not my problem." He smirked and for the first time, it was devoid of malice. Seeming to realize what he was doing because he quickly tossed the dagger to her before saying in a loud voice, "I don't have the time to play games with you."

Lyra shushed him but it was already too late. Pippin appeared around the corner, his feet high above the ground, Elrohir's hand grasped the collar of his shirt, keeping him airborne. He held the hobbit up as proof. "I win."

"Lyra, I need to speak with you." All heads turned to where Lord Elrond waited, his face thoughtful and troubled. At Lyra's silent nod, he strode away. She bit her lip nervously, twisting her hair between her fingers.

"Don't leave me with them." Pippin complained, kicking his feet wildly, still unable to touch the grass.

"Sorry Pip. I'll rescue you later." She promised before hurrying after her adopted father, leaving one dangling hobbit between two elven warriors.

"Am I in trouble again?" she asked, somewhat gruffly. Things had not been comfortable between the two of them since their last talk and as much as Lyra regretted that, she could not bring herself to apologize for speaking the truth.

"We should talk. I've had much time to think about your words and I have decided you are right." He stopped suddenly and turned to her.

"I am?" Lyra asked, dumbfounded. She shut her mouth with an audible snap.

"You are young and will make mistakes. Still, you are my daughter and I trust you." Although he offered her a smile, it was forced and his eyes were hooded.

"Well-thank you." She finally managed, a faint blush on her cheeks.

"And because I trust you, I'm going to tell you everything." Her whole life, Lyra knew things had been kept from her, to keep her safe. Even though she saw the necessity in it, the knowledge of being in the dark was one she always detested. Still, with Elrond's eyes so dark and his expression grim, she had a twinge of doubt. Nonetheless, she took a seat and fixed her attention on him.

"Tell me."

Lyra wasn't sure how much time had passed. Her mind was still struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation they found themselves in. She wandered over to the fountain, feeling Elrond's eyes on her, waiting for the reaction that was sure to come. The sun had begun its descent but the hobbits still played in the grass below, their excited voices carried by the wind. Pippin, who had been released, said something that made Frodo laugh. Frodo. Her eyes fixed themselves on his smile. How could he laugh when something so foul hung about his neck?

"I knew it was evil. I could feel it. Still- the One Ring." She couldn't help the cold shudder than ran through her body.

"Tomorrow there will be a council meeting to decide what happens." She jumped at his voice so close to her. She looked up at him in disbelief and anger.

"There's nothing to decide. It needs to be destroyed."

A deep sigh escaped him. "It is not only our decision."

"You're going to let them choose?" she demanded. "Look what happened when you-when they were allowed to decide that time." The room had become hot and Lyra ran her hand through her hair in an irritated manner.

"You need to remember who the enemy here is Lyra." He reminded her but she wasn't listening. A buzzing seemed to fill her ears as Frodo glanced up, catching her eye. Lord Elrond kept talking but it was all nonsense; her head pounded with an insistent throbbing. After a few moments, the hobbits disappeared around the corner and the pain vanished. Elrond's hand on her shoulder stirred her.

"What?" she asked, dizzy.

"Tomorrow." In all her years, she had never seen him so troubled and it shook her to the core. "Tomorrow decides everything."


	6. Away We Go

" _You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place. Like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you'll never be this way ever again."_ \- **Azar Nafisi**

* * *

The air was so thick with apprehension she could taste it. The figures blurred together in a dull haze, all tall and angry and full of fear. The council had been tense from the very beginning, especially between the dwarves and elves. To her surprise, the men seemed at odds with each other as well. They each sat with their own kind, sending disapproving and distrustful glances at the others. Even Gandalf stood and confronted the tall captain called Boromir. Lyra glanced at Elrond as numerous voices began to rise, all fighting for dominance. Her father wore an exasperated look on his face and seemed to be attempting to rub away a growing headache.

There was only one person in the circle that had not angrily jumped to their feet. Frodo looked unbelievably small in the stone chair that was far too large for him; his hobbit feet dangled above the ground. Although his eyes were frightened, they were glued to the ring with shock and a kind of sick determination and while he stared at the gold circle, Lyra stared at him. She knew what the hobbit was going to say before he unfortunately confirmed her thoughts.

"I will take it." None heard him among the roar of raised voices.

"Frodo don't." She whispered, but he didn't hear her and instead jumped to his feet.

"I will take the ring to Mordor." This time, faces turned his way and all noise faded. Rather than the dispute she expected, there was a sort of pride and acceptance in Lord Elrond's face.

"Though I do not know the way." He added, growing weary as the weight of what he had just decided settled around his neck.

"I will help you bear this burden Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear." She was startled to hear Gandalf's voice as he brushed past her and patted the young hobbit on the shoulder. To her shock, no one had disputed Frodo's role as ring bearer. Rather, they seemed to be in awe of him.

"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." Aragorn stood, walked towards the hobbit and knelt. Lyra felt her stomach clench as her friend pledged his loyalty. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow." Legolas quickly followed the ranger, failing to notice the wink Gandalf sent Elrond.

"And my axe." Gimli gruffly spoke even louder, peering up to Legolas with a smirk in his eyes. The elf ignored him, choosing instead to look away in annoyance.

"You carry the fate of us all little one." Boromir's steps were slower, calculating. Frodo seemed relieved when the others had joined but his eyes met those of the man of Gondor with an uncertain glint. "If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

A sudden yell startled the circle; even the elves jumped in surprise.

"Mr. Frodo's not goin anywhere without me." Sam pushed through the branches he had been hiding behind and folded his arms over his chest, planting himself near Frodo. It was clear to all he would not be moved.

"Indeed it would seem impossible to separate you, especially when he is summoned to a secret meeting and you were not."

Sam looked mildly sheepish and turned a light pink.

"We're coming too."

If not for the seriousness of the situation, Lyra might have laughed at the surprised expression on Elrond's face when two more hobbits appeared from behind statues and scuttled over to their friends. Lyra felt eyes on her. Gandalf was studying her with an unreadable expression and for some strange reason, guilt washed through her limbs.

"Very well. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring." He turned away and nodded, seemingly satisfied.

"Great." Pippin looked as if second lunch had been announced. "Where are we going?" he asked.

Lyra closed her eyes in pain at the innocence displayed. How much longer could he keep it?

* * *

There was something wrong. Very wrong. It drove Lyra to intense distraction. During the days, she spent her time with the hobbits, taking them for rides in the fields, practicing their archery and listening to their songs. Even though Aragorn and Arwen had not spent time together, their eyes remained glued to the other. Lyra wondered how much it would hurt to be drawn to another in such an extreme way and be forced to resist. To distract him, she often tried to include the ranger on their outings but he seemed even more serious and withdrawn. She could not remember the last time a smile graced his lips.

When she wasn't with them, Lyra found welcome in Gimli's company. The dwarf had not been spared the intensity of her endless questions. Unlike others, she took a real interest in his homeland and dwarves in general. At first, he seemed suspicious of her intentions but slowly, he began to appreciate her curiosity and was never one to shirk away from a recounting of his previous adventures.

It was only at night that her worries seemed to multiply and trap her. The nightmares had become so frequent that she often preferred to go without sleep when she could. Her dreams were dark and full of despair that left her stomach heaving and her mind spinning. There was an edge of urgency to them now and she could not escape the feeling that it meant something more than what she could grasp. It was only a few days before the fellowship was to depart that a familiar face invaded her sleep. She woke and not even the force of Arwen's crashing waves could equal the painful pressure in her chest. Unable to bear it any longer, she set off to find her father.

* * *

"I was there. I saved him. Ada-" she turned to him but he seemed to know her words before they left her mouth.

"No Lyra." Despite the lateness of the hour, she had found Lord Elrond pouring over maps.

"But, this is a warning." She felt tears and blinked them away furiously. She could not tell if they were from a lingering image or frustration but they pained her all the same. "If I don't find out what it means, something could happen to him. Maybe I'm meant to stop it."

"Aragorn knows the dangers." He reasoned.

"So that means he has your permission to die?" She whirled on him in anger, shocked at the coldness of it all.

"Do not speak to me that way. I raised that boy." His voice was equally sharp.

"As you raised me." She concluded. "What makes me different than he is?"

"Aragorn has a duty to fulfill. I have kept him safe as long as I was able. That is not possible any longer. His path is different than yours."

"We've talked about this." She said, fighting to keep the impatience from her voice. "Lady Galadriel has the gift of foresight. She might know. If I could just talk to her-"

"We talked about you taking part in the defenses of our home, not about trekking across Middle Earth to Lothlorien without a proper guard." His voice turned brittle.

"I'll be with some of the finest warriors-"

"It's not the same and you know it. They will attract evil. What they carry will attract evil."

"Then you condemn their journey? Have you no faith in them?" Her voice was but a whisper but held tremors of accusations. He turned to her slowly, and there were lines in his face she had not recognized before.

"I fear you will lose everything in the knowledge this will bring you." She paused, uncertain- not of her decision but how to answer. His hand brushed a piece of hair tentatively from her face.

"This world has taken so much from us elves, from me. Now, it seeks to take my children." His dark eyes were pools of deep wisdom and painful memories.

"It won't take me ada. I'll be back." The promise tasted bitter on her tongue.

"I am gifted with foresight and even I cannot see where your path leads." He set his hands over the aged parchment and closed his eyes, "But if you stay here, I fear you will fade. If speaking with Lady Galadriel will give you peace, I cannot deny it."

"I won't fade father." Tears filled her eyes and she tried to instill her voice with confidence she did not feel. Hastily, she brushed her feelings aside.

"I didn't really think you'd give me permission." She couldn't help but smile.

"I don't think you were really asking for it." He said.

"I do want your blessing."

"Then you have it." He bestowed a kiss on her forehead that felt too much like goodbye. For a moment, she leaned into the safety his presence gave.

And then she walked away.

* * *

"Are you having second thoughts?" So lost in her deliberations, Lyra didn't notice the presence of Aragorn until his shoulder brushed against hers. No doubt, Aragorn had been one of the first Elrond had spoken to of the journey that now included her. She wondered what rules he had given the ranger concerning her protection. She felt a pang of guilt. Aragorn's worries were enough without having to worry about her as well.

"Not about the quest, not about this, not about me." Against her will, her eyes went to the figure she could barely glimpse standing on a balcony above. She knew Elrohir, Elladan, Erestor, and Gandalf were also in the room but Elrond's form was the only one who would occasionally appear onto the ledge. To Lyra, it seemed her father was constantly assuring himself that Rivendell was still here, still safe- at least for the moment.

"Lord Elrond then?" His eyes followed her to the tall figure that disappeared above them.

"You know how my father is." She sighed.

"He's honorable." Aragorn frowned at her.

"That's what makes it so difficult. He's always right and he thinks we're wrong." She turned to the ranger for support, looking at him for the first time. "We are right Aragorn."

"What makes you so certain?" he asked, looking as uncertain as she felt.

"Why did you change your mind about Arwen?" She asked instead, not needing to see him to feel his eyes suddenly on her.

"Father told me." She answered his unspoken question.

She felt him shift beside her, uneasy, burdened.

"I didn't change my mind about her. I still feel the same."

"Then how can you-"

"Because I know it's right even though it feels-." He cut off with a pained look.

At those words, Lyra felt a deep sense of peace fall onto her shoulders. "Sometimes, even thought everyone else thinks we're wrong, we know we're right. That why I choose to go."

"He's right in a way. This isn't your world. These aren't your people." Aragorn told her slowly.

"I am half human." She reminded him. "Besides, you were raised by elves. I know you feel the same way I do."

"You're never known your father. You have nothing to hold you here."

"This is my home." She regarded the noisy brook and towering trees with a feeling of motherly protection.

"It doesn't have to be." He turned to her fully for the first time, studying. "What's keeping you here Lyra?" she could feel no judgment only curiosity.

"Can't I do something just because it's right? Isn't that reason enough?" A long silence fell between them.

"You might fit in the fellowship just fine after all." He decided with a small smile.

* * *

"If there are to be two elves, should there not also be two dwarves?" It seemed news that she would be joining the traveling companions had spread faster than she thought. Although all the hobbits seemed pleased, there were three that were not. Boromir had told her over and over that it might be dangerous and she was a lady. After his complaining had ceased, she dealt with Gimli's. Legolas had not given voice to his yet but she could feel the rage radiating from him most of all. It was in his eyes when bothered to look at her, almost to the point of being pained.

"Secrecy is a matter of upmost importance on this quest Master Dwarf." Aragorn explained, as tired of the endless questions as she was.

"What are you trying to say?" his long beard shook as he spoke.

"Elves excel at silence, even half elves are better than dwarves. You will make enough commotion for the rest of us I should think." Legolas could not help chiming in.

"I'm only going to Lothlorien." She added, somewhat cowed that he had such a strong opinion on the matter.

"Nonetheless-"

"Do you dislike me that me that much? I thought we got along pretty well." She heard the hurt echo dully in her voice. The dwarf must have as well for he shuffled his great feet before answering.

"It's not you. I guess you can't help bein half elf. Bah fine. I'll put up with it till Lothlorien."

"I appreciate it." She answered wryly.

He and Aragorn wandered off, leaving her alone with the elf. She turned her back on him and concentrated on her pack. Traveling light and fast was key so Lyra had tried to stuff only a pair of clean britches and shirt alone with her weapons and some food.

A voice broke her concentration. Although his presence was impossible to ignore, she had managed to shove thoughts of him from her immediate thoughts.

"Why do you want to come?" Lyra regarded him quietly for several moments. It was not the anger in his eyes that confused her but something the anger was hiding, something much deeper and stronger.

"I asked you a question." His voice made her jump, so lost was she in his blue eyes, trying to unravel its mysteries.

"I'm just trying to decide which lie I should use." She was aware of her words the same time he was. Both their eyes widened in surprise.

"I knew it. I knew you would be like this." There was bleak acceptance and even more anger in his voice now.

"You know nothing about me." She hissed, stung at the intensity of his hatred for her.

"I don't need to."

"Unfortunately, I will be seeing all too much of you soon. I don't plan to spend my last day home in your insufferable presence." She snapped before storming off to seek better company.

She didn't have far to go before stumbling upon a tall figure cloaked in familiar grey, "Hello Gandalf." She said, forcing her shoulders to release the tension Legolas had caused.

"Lady Lyra." He greeted with an incline of his head.

"Would you mind if I traveled with your group until Lothlorien?" She asked, fighting against the urge to nervously twirl her fingers into her shirt.

"I would count it a loss if you did not." He said, like he had expected it all along.

"Good." She smiled, releasing a sigh of relief.

"I take it your father has given permission?" he raised one bushy eyebrow.

"Would I be here if he had not?" she countered.

His laughter was low and gruff. "It would not surprise me somehow. Might I ask the sudden interest in Lothlorien?"

Lyra debated for a few moments before answering. Only a few knew about the dreams that plagued her sleep. Still, she trusted Gandalf as her father did.

"I've been having nightmares." she confessed, despite feeling silly at her words, "I think they might mean something."

"Often nightmares are nothing more than secret thoughts brought to light."

She shook her head, "These are different. They're horrible but they feel like a warning somehow."

"I see." Gandalf's pipe was out as he considered her words as the smoke began to carry into the night. "You wish Lady Galadriel to share her wisdom on the matter."

She nodded and felt a familiar pang of nausea. "I saw Aragorn in a dark place. There were orcs all around him. I've had others too-even worse. At first father tried to convince me they were just bad dreams but even he doesn't believe that anymore." Her voice was barely a whisper but the wizard heard her.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much now my dear. These things have a way of coming out whether we want them to or not."

"I feel trapped Gandalf." She said with vulnerability. "I know I'm not supposed to be here."

His bushy eyebrows rose at her confession and his wise eyes regarded her with some humor. "Space does not trap you. Your problem is here-" he pointed to her heart- "and here." His finger grazed her forehead.

"Are you calling me crazy and heartless?" she tried to keep the laughter from her voice but failed. Even the old wizard shook his head at her antics and Lyra spent the last day in Rivendell with a lighter heart. She didn't notice two steely blue eyes watching from the shadows.

* * *

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	7. A Cold Start

" _Wherever you are is the entry point."_ \- **Kabir**

* * *

"Stop staring at me." Lyra hissed, whirling on the elf walking behind her. "I can feel your eyes like daggers." For the past three hours, his attention had grown from a minor annoyance to something she had to grit her teeth to keep from exploding or slapping him.

 _Slapping_ , she turned the idea over in her mind. That sounded good. Satisfying. Unfortunately, the aftermath could hardly be pleasant. She doubted he would be as forgiving as Elrohir or Edallah when it came to physical aggravation.

"You flatter yourself." His voice was heavy with cynicism.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about." She felt a shard of annoyance at herself for the blush that stole across her face. "Let's speak plainly. You dislike me and I would very much like to know why." She fought to warm her voice even as a cold wind chilled her body. Perhaps they could settle this peacefully, she reasoned. After all, Legolas was an elf hundreds of years older than her. He should have more experience than she did at settling minor annoyances with others.

"Can your general presence and temperament not be reason enough?" he asked, his voice bored, as his eyes flickered towards the company several feet ahead.

Any resolution to remain pleasant fled with his words.

"I annoy you even more than Gimli and he is a dwarf! So, unless you are simply a disagreeable elf by nature, I must have accidently done something to offend you."

"You have not done anything yet." He answered offhandedly, stepping lightly over a small stream of water.

"Yet? Then, you expect me to do something in the future? Is this because I am female? I thought of the entire group, another elf would not mind. Are there not female guards in Mirkwood?" So angry, she stomped right through the chilly water without bothering to even consider it.

"It is not because of that. I have no wish to speak of it." He made to walk away but Lyra blocked his path.

"Well I do wish to speak of it. I'm not an idiot you know. I can handle the cold and the walking and the rain and even the orcs but I should not have to deal with you despising me for no good reason." She hissed, meeting the prince's cold glare with one of her own.

They were spared further arguing when one concerned hobbit glanced back at the two elves, noticing her expression.

"What's wrong Lyra?" Pippin asked, pausing to study her. "Your face is kind of red. Maybe you're catching something."

"I'm alright. Just a headache that refuses to go away." She growled, stomping away from Legolas.

"The last thing you need before we go into the mountain is a cold." He worried his lower lip.

"I wonder how long it'll take to cross." She murmured out loud, shaking the annoyance from her shoulders and turning her attention to the white peaks that towered across the horizon.

"Have you never come this way?" Pippin asked, clearly surprised.

"I've never come this far." She corrected, studying the white caps with interest.

"Really?" His voice remained incredulous.

"Have you traveled much outside the Shire?" She turned her attention back to him, glancing down at his curly hair that refused to remain tame.

"Not. But I just thought elves went everywhere." He shivered in the cool breeze that swept through the open plains.

"My father likes to keep me close." She said instead, offering him a small crooked grin.

"I wonder why that would be." Aragorn added, joining them and giving Lyra a small playful shove with his shoulder.

"Why?" Pippin and Merry asked simultaneously.

"Because she's always getting into trouble." He explained, all grave and serious.

Most of the company laughed and Lyra felt her own lips twitch with the urge.

"You don't think those crows will be there do you Gandalf?" Sam asked, a frown marring his normally happy features.

"No, but the enemy has spies in many places. He doesn't rely on one form alone." Gandalf answered, sharp eyes studying the distance. At the concern in Sam's eyes, Lyra felt a stab of pity for him. He had been so focused on taking care of Frodo the past week, Lyra wondered whether who was taking care of him. Already, she noticed a slight slimming in his pudgy cheeks. If she had not been half elf, she doubted she would have seen.

"I think the worst thing we battle here will be cold Sam." Lyra said to the hobbit as Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli studied the winding road ahead. Even though there was still green grass below her feet, she could feel the chill from the snowy mountains half a mile away.

"That doesn't sound so bad." Merry said. "As long as we don't have to fight anything."

"I doubt we'll be doing any of that up there." She said, cheered by the thought.

* * *

Several hours later and Lyra was prepared to fight a thousand orcs if she could only get feeling back into her hands and feet. She had been cold before but never so cold that her very bones ached with it. The air in her lungs seemed to be made of sharp crystals, slashing at her throat every time she drew in a breath. She spared a weary look at the hobbits, feeling a pang of pity both for them and for herself. Unable to walk anymore, Pippin and Merry contended themselves with being urged forward almost to the point of being carried. It was Boromir who finally gave voice to the concern the entire group was feeling. Surely Gandalf saw the truth in his words. Even now, she could see the normally rosy cheeks of the hobbits take on an ashy tone. Despite this, the old wizard pushed them forward mercilessly, against the sharp wind that was desperately trying to hurtle them off the steep cliffs. Several times, someone had grabbed Lyra's arm to prevent her from slipping off the side and several times she had also grasped a limb that had grown unsteady and perilously close to the edge.

Her entire body felt brittle, ready to shatter at any moment. She growled and bit her lip. It was just a little snow. She fixed the powder that covered her legs with a steely look and gave it a good glare. She could handle that. After all, wasn't she always telling her brothers she wasn't weak like they imagined? It was high time to prove it. With this thought in mind, she stomped through the packed snow with a renewed sense of vigor.

It was barely a minute later when a pulse of heat hit Lyra so suddenly and unexpectedly that she forgot the pain she was in. The intensity of it pushed Lyra to her knees where she gasped in horror. The others failed to notice over the noise of the mountain creaking and the ice that slashed at their faces. After struggling to her feet and pushing her hood from her face, she inched as close to the threshold as we could, attempting to peer through the world of white. She expected to see billows of dark smoke around her. She could almost taste the putrid burn that clouded her senses but there was nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the wind growing more frenzied. Snow flew about in a blizzard and the only noise she heard was the howl of the wind.

Perhaps the cold was distorting her senses. Still…she had felt something that felt foreign and dangerous. Sick.

Surely though, she must have imagine it for Gandalf made no move except to huff when a pile of snow from above fell on his head, bending his wizard's hat. Normally, she might have laughed but now, nothing seemed funny. The entire group was so intent of their laboring that they didn't notice the crack of the mountain ridge above them until it was almost too late. Lyra barely had time to push herself against the rock before everything disappeared in white. It felt as if she had just been dropped into the sea from a great height and took several seconds for her lungs to gasp in the chilled air. For just a moment, all sound was lost in the thick wall of ice. Though almost all of her body was numb, the snow that packed around her still proved to be a nasty shock. She wiggled her way to the surface with some difficulty to see Gimlii's head pop out beside her. He sputtered in the wet snow while Aragorn and Boromir assisted the hobbits.

"There is a fell voice on the air." She heard Legolas say, his sharp eyes spotting something none but he could see.

She could hear it now- the voice that the smoke belonged to, chanting harsh words.

"It's Saruman." Someone screamed. In reply, Gandalf clambered from their circle and stood upon the ridge. Alone, he began to shout words back, his voice carried miles over the mountain to Saruman. For a moment, it seemed to work. Then once again the stone beneath them groaned and shook, sending an avalanche plummeting their way. It took even longer to dig themselves out. Already the snow was packed around them. Lyra suspected if the mountain was shook once more, they might never be found. Her teeth chattered violently and she tasted blood on her tongue.

The men began arguing while Lyra and the hobbits merely grouped in a huddle, trying unsuccessfully to share warmth.

"That takes the ring too close to Isengard." She barely caught Aragorn's words over the roar of the wind. Ice had frozen onto his beard and his grey eyes seemed to almost disappear in his pale face.

"We will let the ring bearer decide." Gandalf said, voice grave. All eyes turned to Frodo. In that moment, the hobbit had never looked smaller.

Lyra didn't care where they went as long as they could get out of this cold _now_ but Frodo took a moment to seriously consider. He shivered, dark hair plastered to his face and surveyed the fellowship who crowded around him.

"We will pass through the mines." He decided, sounding certain despite the fear in his eyes.

Even half out of her mind from cold, it was impossible for Lyra to miss the despair in Gandalf. "So be it."


	8. Through Dungeons Deep

" _I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark." -_ **Raymond Carver**

* * *

For as long as she could remember, Lyra had heard unfavorable accounts regarding dwarves from any elf who had the displeasure of meeting one. However, after being around Gimli, she wondered how anyone could not be fond of his kind. If Lyra merely hinted that she might like to hear of a place or battle, the dwarf's tongue was off and wagging.

The hobbits seemed to enjoy his tales as well, though Pippin's eyes were grow wide at any mention of battles. It wasn't long before she began to wonder if all hobbits had pack like tendencies. When one would show up and engage her in conversation, the other three would soon surround her. They were merry like elves but in a different way. Nothing seemed to weigh down their spirits, and they remained almost childlike in their innocence. They seemed interested in everything around them- the rivers, mountains, and types of trees. Once Sam had discovered she possessed a wide knowledge of plants, he would often speak of his garden at home with a wistful voice.

If not for the dark circles growing under Frodo's eyes or the tension brewing between Aragorn and Boromir, she could have convinced herself they were on some pleasant trip.

The trek down the mountain was far easier than the hike to the top. When the snow disappeared behind them, the air grew thicker as they approached the base of the mountain. The famed Misty Mountains took her breath away, so sheer in size. The companions filed one after the other, skirting around a lake until they paused at a spot Gandalf deemed worthy.

"Lyra." Sam scooted closer to her. "What do you think Gandalf is looking for?"

"I suppose a way in." She whispered back, unsure herself. The old wizard's movements grew frenzied as he ran his hands over the rough stone. She studied the wall for any cracks or breaks but it all looked the same to her. She wondered whether Legolas would be able to see anything different but his gaze remained firmly fixed on the water's soft ripples.

Time passed. The hobbits grew bored and Gandalf grew impatient. The moon rose, casting the lake and mountainside in an eerie glow. Lyra wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders and contented herself with watching Pippin and Merry skip rocks. Only the sound of Gandalf muttering strange words to himself and the slight pulse of the water's ripples were heard in the clearing. The mountain was strangely silent in the night. Eventually, Gandalf gave up and threw his staff to the ground, taking a seat beside Gimli who had yet to utter a word. Like Lyra, he studied the blue glow etched into the stone, an expression of wonder written across his face. Frodo wandered over to the wall.

"It's a riddle." He said, so quietly, she almost didn't hear him. "Speak friend and enter." He turned to Gandalf. "What the elvish word for friend?"

After scrunching his face in concentration, Gandalf answered, "Mellon." The affect was immediate. With a groan, the wall broke apart into two doors that swung forward. Laughing in delight, Gandalf rose. Gimli put out his pipe, and dumped the ashes on the ground, most eager to see his kin no doubt.

Despite the wind howling around her, Lyra was reluctant to enter the dark room. While dwarves could live quite happily in the mines and tunnels underground, elves craved light. For Lyra, the stars would be particularly difficult to be absent from for so long. Nonetheless, she trailed in after the others, listening to Gimli's promises of food, ale, and hospitality. She stumbled over something in the darkness and only Aragorn's hand kept her from falling. Before she could right herself, the others started shouting, their words jumbled together, all tinged with panic.

"Get out. Get out." Boromir shouted. The hobbits took a few uncertain steps back while the rest of the company drew their weapons.

Lyra peered into the darkness, only now noticing the bodies that were scattered around, many with arrow still imbedded in the decayed flesh and broken bones. At the same time, Frodo gave a cry from behind her. She turned just in time to see him disappear around the corner, his fingers scraping the floor, failing to find a hold. She and the hobbits rounded the corner after him and froze in shock.

A monstrous creature thrashed in the water, its many tentacles wrapped around Frodo's ankle, keeping him suspended high in the air. Before she knew what she was doing, Lyra had thrown herself into the lake with her sword drawn and began hacking at any part of the creature she could reach. She knew she hit it somewhere when it gave a bellow of pain and lashed out at her. Something hit her shoulder with brutal force, sending her plummeting into the wall. Her vision threatened to fade for a brief moment.

Shaking, she felt the back of her head and groaned when she felt warm blood trickle down her scalp. The noise around her muted and slowed, echoing inside her mind. While Aragorn hacked away at the creature, dancing in and out of its reach, Legolas fired arrows. One last twang of the string and Frodo fell-right into Boromir's waiting arms. Lyra struggled to stand, tripping over her own feet as the others made their way towards the cave entrance. Only Legolas saw her movement from the corner of his eye. He waved his hands in the air, yelling words she couldn't comprehend. Finally, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She tried not to cry out at the stabbing pain in her shoulder as he pushed in front of him and shoved her in the cave, just in time before the roof collapsed behind them, cutting off the creature's screams. Slowly, the ringing in her ears faded and she was able to hear the others' voices.

"Lyra, are you alright? You're bleeding." Aragorn's hands skimmed over her neck until he found the source of the blood. She gasped and pulled away.

"I'm fine. It's already stopped." He took this with bad grace and looked ready to push her until Legolas laid a hand on his arm. Lyra turned to the elf to thank him but the look on his face gave her pause.

"We have but one choice. We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places." As they set out further into the twisting tunnels she only hoped they might avoid whatever evil still hid in this land.

* * *

They traveled for days, hardly ever speaking above a whisper. The silence and darkness of the mines seeped into Lyra's thoughts. Her dreams once again grew troubled and she woke more than once in a cold sweat, praying she hadn't made any noise in the night. Luckily, no one appeared to notice.

At least that's what she hoped until one day Legolas appeared behind her while she stood a little apart from the others.

"What do you dream about?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft. His question made her freeze and she knew he noticed.

"I've forgotten." She shrugged, playing with the dagger at her side. "They're just dreams. They mean nothing."

"You are lying and surprisingly not very good at it." His voice grew hard all at once and as she looked up at him, his eyes were the same- blue diamonds, cold and demanding. He looked so young to her, with a boyish quality in his face that most elves lacked. If not for the depth of his eyes, Lyra could have guesses him to be a few years older than she was.

She took a deep breath and fixed him with a stare. "Death. I dream about death."

Even thought Legolas did not try to speak to her again, she still felt his eyes on her that night. She dreamed of an elveish city with misty air and golden trees that death could not touch and for the first time in a long time, she was not afraid.

The next day Gandalf announced that their journey through the tunnels of Moria would soon be over. He even allowed them to pause and witness the enormous halls of the dwarven city, dusty and ruined but still strong and resolute. The pillars stretched far over her head and twined in the ceiling above. Blunt runes had been sketched onto the columns and smaller passages led to dozens of other open chambers.

"I wish I could have been seen this before-" Sam began and shook his head, throwing an uneasy glance at the dwarf.

It was one of these rooms that caught Gimli's eye. With a sudden cry, he was off, the rest of the company following close after. Full of corpses and dust, the chamber had not seen life in years. Gimli fell on his knees, his head bent as sobs racked his body. A lone light shone on a tomb in the middle of the room. Gandalf picked up a heavy book, the pages faded and cracked. He blew the dirt from it and began to read, voice ominous.

"They have taken the bridge and the second hall. We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes- drums, drums in the deep." Lyra shuddered at the images that flashed behind her eyes.

Gandalf turned the page. "We cannot get out. Shadows move in the dark." She heard Pippin gasp and fought the urge to run the rest of the way and not stop until the mines gave way to daylight. She could feel the wrongness of the situation, some dark warning in her very bones.

"His kin." Frodo whispered and with a pang, she understood.

"We cannot get out. They are coming." Something dark that looked like blood splattered on the last page. The skeletons and littered arrows in the mine looked menacing. Had they also felt this suffocating fear? Had they tried to run? She had little time to wonder before a sharp screech filled the cavern. Everyone whirled to find the source of the noise- Pippin. The hobbit's eyes widened in shock and horror, looking just as surprised as they did. The noise seemed to last years as the chain rumbled its way towards the very heart of Moria, down a well and into open air.

"Oh Pippin." She whispered, straining her ears to pick up anything. Her heartbeat galloped in her chest, blocking out all other noise. She kept her eyes on Gandalf. Surely, if something was coming, he would know. Slowly, one by one, they all began to relax. Aragorn sheathed his sword and let out a small breath he had been holding.

"You fool of a took!" Gandalf practically growled, towering over the young hobbit. With a snarl, he snatched his staff and hat from his hands.

"Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity." A small piece of Lyra felt a little pity for the Pippin, who looked unsure of himself and very small. One sound and all sane thoughts fled. Unsure if she was imagining things, she glanced at Legolas who seemed to have the same idea as her. The other members of the fellowship noticed their tension and paused.

"Did you-" she broke off when drums and horrible squeals began tolling, loud enough now for the rest to hear.

"They are coming."


	9. And Caverns Old

" _Nothing goes as planned; everything will break_

 _People say goodbye in their own special ways_

 _All that you rely on and all that you can fake_

 _Will leave you in the morning but find you in the day."_

- **In My Veins,** _Andrew Belle_

* * *

Lyra had heard countless drums in her lifetime. There were the drums of the elves used during celebrations, whose pulse seemed to echo the very call of the stars above. She had heard the drums of war, when elves were called to battle against a warg pack that dared too close to their borders and experienced the paralyzing fright that came with it. That drum seemed to match the rhythm of her heart as she watched her brothers ride away. She had even heard the drums of men while riding by their villages as they danced to its beat with clumsy feet. But nothing could ever prepare her for the noises that reached them, growing closer and closer with each passing second. Bloodthirsty squeals of excitement and the pounding of countless feet prompted each member of the fellowship into action. The drums drowned out everything else; the cavern itself seemed to shake with it.

Boromir, Legolas, and Aragorn seized old discarded spears and axes, ramming the opening shut. They had done their best but the barricade was flimsy at best and would only hold for a few seconds. Lyra took a step forward in front of the hobbits and drew an arrow, trying to fit it to her bowstring with shaking fingers. Growling with frustration, she shook her arms, attempting to empty them of their nerves.

"Deep breath." Legolas commanded, now standing beside her, his arrow already drawn back, held still by a practiced hand. Aragorn waited next to him, eye trained on the door. Both he and Gandalf looked calm and ready for anything that might come through. Gimli on the other hand stood on his forefather's tomb, waving his axe back and forth, daring the orc scum to test his blade. Sting grew even brighter until she was able to see every fleck of broken blue in Frodo's eyes. The other three surrounded him in a protective barrier.

Taking his advice, Lyra closed her eyes for a split second, just long enough to calm her breathing. With forced grace, she drew her arrow fully- just in time for the first shudder to strain the door. She didn't know how long they pounded away at it, but deep cracks began to splinter through, the hinges groaning at the brute force.

One more blow and there was nothing standing between her and the massive horde.

They were even more hideous than she could have imagined. Their smell reached her nose first- rotting flesh and festering wounds. Only twice before had Lyra fought them, and even then only from the safety of her saddle. But she had never seen creatures like these. The orcs she had fought had been weakened by the sun and panicked when they found themselves suddenly surrounded by elvish warriors.

Here, Lyra was the one surrounded. Here, they held the upper ground. They wasted no time and charged forward, the tips of their swords jagged and rusty but still sharp and gleaming. She, Legolas, and Aragorn let their arrows fly at the same time. The first wave of orcs fell back, dead. She only had time to bring one more arrow to the string before they were upon her, their serrated blades hacking through the air. She dropped her bow to the floor and unsheathed her sword, bringing it up just as one with gleaming yellow eyes brought his down upon her. Even with his skin peeling from his bodies, he was stronger than she expected and pushed her back inch by inch. She felt the sting of her own blade bite into her shoulder as she grappled for stable footing amidst the rubble. He panted down at her, teeth broken and black with green spittle that she felt wet her face as he hissed. Putting all her weight on one foot, Lyra brought her other foot up and kicked the orc above his knee. He fell with a scream of pain, leg broken and twisted sideways, the bone splintered and poking through his grey flesh. It didn't take long for her to slit his throat.

She threw a desperate glance around, trying to find her companions but an ocean of orc bodies kept them separated. She jumped into the fray, hacking at anything she could find. At first, it seemed to go well. She cut down three orcs in rapid succession, their black blood splattered on her face and hands. She gripped her sword tighter to keep it from slipping. Then the others noticed her presence. They set upon her in a circle, too many for her to protect herself against, let alone attack. She locked swords with one tall orc just as another two raised their axes above their heads, ready to bring it down, to split her wide open. The ugliness of her reality hit with shocking force. She would die here and bleed out and they would do terrible things with what was left of her. She closed her eyes tight against the death stroke that was sure to come when a whistle rushed past her ear. Both orcs fell to the ground, the tip of elvish arrows jutting from their throat. Lyra wasted no time in finishing the other off before he could recover from his disbelief. Past grievances forgotten, she raised her hand towards the elf in thanks. It was only when she saw the shadow behind him move that she felt her smile drop.

"Legolas." She screamed, pointing behind him to the lone orc who had managed to use her distraction to his advantage. But her voice was lost in the chaos of battle, lost in the swords that rang and the screams of anger that came from both sides. Legolas never paused firing arrows at those below, saving the company again and again while giving no attention to his own safety. Horrible guilt filled Lyra. He would die because of her. He didn't even like her and now the future king of Mirkwood would be slain because she had been unable to protect herself. _Stupid,_ she thought to herself. _Stupid._

Rage filled her, slowing the world, dulling her senses until everything around her disappeared- everything but her and the orc and the terrible anger burning its way through her body. One second stretched a year in her mind; colors broke into a million shards of crystals and every limitation that had kept her from seeing and feeling before fell away. Just when she felt she might explode from the pressure, she felt something in her mind click, like a key that been slid into a lock. Everything left her at once, too quick for her to even remember what was wrong in the first place.

The orc behind Legolas gave a cry of pain and rage and fell to the floor, choking and convulsing. As he fell, Legolas finally noticed him. Not seeing any wound, Legolas scanned the room in confusion- first to Gandalf, who was engaged in a different scrapple. Then his eyes found her, still looking at the enemy with a hungry expression. Lyra didn't notice as a sick satisfaction tingled through her. She grinned savagely, tasting blood as a cut on her lip split further. He was dead and the flesh would rot off his bones, leaving nothing but dust that would be trampled under feet. The justice of it filled her with warm contentment.

Then the realization of what she had done hit her and every good feeling was sucked out from her, leaving her whole body trembling. The affect on her body was instantaneous. With ringing ears and blurred vision, she stumbled through two more kills, each orc coming closer to injuring her than they should have. She had little time to wonder about her actions before a cave troll barreled through the door, his giant feet cracking the stone beneath him. Clouds of dust and rubble flew towards them with each step he took. He seemed to feel no pain from the arrows embedded in his thick skin as he swatted them away like one might a fly.

She and the hobbits climbed onto the balcony. They threw rocks at whatever orc they could and she fired arrows into their midst. It was one of these, close to his eye that caught the troll's attention. His shadow fell over them as they scrambled for safety.

"Pippin move." She shouted, shoving him out of the way just as the massive hammer came down, turning the ground where Pippin would have stood into dust. They tumbled to the floor, spitting grime from their mouths.

"Thanks." The hobbit yelped before pulling her up and pressing himself behind her and the pillar. Lyra glanced out from their hiding spot, watching the troll sniff the air, searching for their scent. She grabbed Pippin and Merry's shirt, pulling and pushing them around the pillar just as the troll's face came into view, even closer this time, mere feet away. She could feel its breath on her, making her hair ripple as if it were caught in a breeze. She held her breath and gripped her sword as the sound of battle began to quiet. And then it was gone.

Merry let out a breath just as a roar filled the air. It had found them and drawn by the evil he wore, the troll grabbed at Frodo first. He struggled to reach his blade but Sting glowed alone in the corner as Frodo was pulled through the blood and over sharp broken stones. His protests began to weaken and then Aragorn was there- like he always was. With one chop of his sword, Frodo was freed, frantically crawling away. The troll turned on Aragorn and with one flick of his wrist, sent him flying into the wall. The ranger crumpled in a pile and didn't move again. The troll picked up a spear that was as tall as she was and in one nasty lunge, stabbed Frodo. While Lyra rushed over to Aragorn, the others attacked the troll with fury in their cries. He never stood a chance. Merry and Pippin stabbed the creature deep into his back while Gimli hacked at his stubby legs with his broad axe. With one last arrow through his neck, Legolas sent the beast tumbling to the floor. His impact made the room rumble and then as the dust settled and Lyra smacked his cheek, Aragorn opened his eyes.

"Lyra." He groaned. "Where's Frodo?" He glanced over her shoulder to the body that the others were already crowding around. She helped Aragorn stand as he hobbled over to the hobbit and turned him over. Lyra was unable to look away from the body, even though she knew the state he must be in from taking such a spear. To her amazement, it was not blood that greeted them but Frodo opening his eyes, coughing and blinking around the cavern in confusion. The others cried in relief and pulled the hobbit to his feet, hands skimming over his middle where the wound should have been. Looking almost apologetic, Frodo pulled his shirt up- to reveal a shirt that shined even in the dank cave.

"Mithril. You're full of surprises Master Baggins." Gimli clapped Frodo on the shoulder, his beard wagging as he laughed in delight. The relief didn't last long. Within seconds, the second wave of orcs could be heard echoing through the cavern so that it was hard to know from which direction they came.

"Hurry- to the Bridge of Khazad-dum." Gandalf took charge and the others sprinted after him. For such an old man, he was proving to be spry. The hobbits struggled to keep up but fear seemed to lighten their feet.

Gandalf turned this way and that until they found themselves once again in the great hall. The light from his staff burned brightly against the darkness. She almost wished he had chosen not to use it for now she could see the shadows around them take shape and move, coming closer the further they ran. The stench of orc filled the great hall until Lyra could taste it filling up her lungs. It was but a few seconds and they were surrounded.

There were hundreds, thousands, perhaps more. Not that it mattered anyway, Lyra thought to herself. With this many orcs- two elves, a wizard and two men had no chance against. It didn't matter that Aragorn was going to be king or that Legolas would one day rule his father's kingdom. They would die here, all the same. She drew closer to the hobbits, knowing they would be the first to go. It would only take one wrong move and with each mistake their company would lessen until they were nothing more than corpses.

"We escaped one battle to find ourselves in one worse." Lyra seethed, white-hot anger steeling over her limbs, filling her with its strength. She glared at one orc in particular who scampered forward, too close to Frodo. She slashed her sword in the air and it fell back, now eying her hungrily. At the moment, she couldn't find it in herself to care. The adrenaline from the first encounter was still flowing through her and if she was going to die, she would rid the world of as much of its filth as she could before she succumbed. Everyone was waiting, testing, circling each other. She could feel the mob about to surge forward when a dark deep gurgling filled the entire mine. The stones themselves seemed to soak in its sound and relay it over again. The orcs' reaction to it was immediate. They scurried back, falling over each other in an attempt to climb back to their dark holes, away from the red light that was slowly bleeding into the corridor. The company huddled together, swords and arrows still out, aimed at a foe they could not yet see. Gandalf's gazed out from under his hat, his expression more troubled than Lyra had ever seen it before.

"A Balrog of Morgoth." He growled and Lyra saw her own horror reflected in Legolas' eyes. Balrogs had been a favorite way to torture victims from Morgoth in the past and to an elf, there was nothing more repulsive. Not even the elves' disdain of orcs could match their hatred of Balrogs.

She wished for the thousands of orcs back. So few before have managed to kill a Balrog and though she had faith in her company, she didn't think they could manage such a feat. Gandalf gave voice to this at the same time.

"Run!" he shouted, urging them on faster and faster. The heat around them grew as sweat dripped into Lyra's eyes, stinging the cuts she had collected on her face. Around them, old furnaces that had not seen life in decades filled with fire. The pulsing of a city awakening only frightened Lyra further. What kind of creature could do this without touch, merely by its presence?

The bridge stretched before them, long and slender, forcing them to run one after the other. Lyra allowed herself a smile. _They had made it._ Up ahead, she could see the hint of sunlight peeking through a long forgotten door.

It was not until she heard Gandalf's voice, too far behind them that she turned and saw the wizard- alone against a mountain of fire. The others had stopped and watched with looks of helplessness on their faces. Swords and arrows couldn't touch such creatures, no matter who bore them. The Balrog's sword appeared from within its body, molted together with fire and lava. It came crashing down on Gandalf with such force that the mine filled with its light.

"We have to help him." Lyra took a step forward. Frodo followed a few steps behind. They were both pulled back- Frodo by Aragorn and Lyra by Legolas.

"Let go." She cried. "He needs us." She begged but although there was pain in Legolas' eyes, there was no compromise.

"You shall not pass!" Gandalf brought his staff down with a mighty crash. At first, it seemed he accomplished nothing. The Balrog sniffed once and took a step forward, closer to the wizard who looked tired and out of breath. Then, the bridge cracked under his weight and the fire demon fell into the blackness of the pit below.

"Gandalf!" Lyra called in delight. The wizard gave them an exhausted smile with dust staining his skin grey. Still, he was unharmed.

Then he fell.

At first, Lyra thought he had slipped in his weariness but his gasp of pain told her otherwise. The flash of a red whip caught him by the ankle, pulling him further away from them. Gandalf struggled to get a handle on the uneven ground and for a brief second, it seemed as though he might climb up. His eyes went to Frodo and then her for a brief second.

"Fly you fools." He hissed and then he let go and was gone.

Frodo screamed and struggled. Later Lyra wished she would have. Shocked beyond words and thought, she let Legolas drag her from the mine and out into the light. It stung her eyes, prickling them with tears.

They fell more rapidly as Lyra thought of the state Gandalf must be in. It was such a long fall. The others collapsed around her, the air heavy with their despair. Gimli was sputtering against Boromir, unable to establish a single sentence. Lyra knelt on the grass and laid her hands on its cool surface. The world was dizzy and she felt she would spin off into the sky without something to keep her anchored to the ground. She choked back a sob before a thought filled her mind, terrible and wonderful at once. She made her way over to Aragorn who had been speaking quietly with Legolas.

"We have to go back for him." She announced, drawing herself up to her full height.

"Lyra-" Her friend's eyes were knowing. Legolas said nothing and the rest of the company were too consumed by their grief to notice her frenzied state.

"No listen. He's there. He could have been caught on the rock. He could be waiting for us to come after him. It will be getting dark soon." She brushed her tears away. "If he's hit his head, the darkness might scare him. We should hurry-"

"Lyra, Gandalf is gone. Don't do this to yourself." Aragorn's voice was softer and more gentle than she had ever heard before and for some reason, that made the pain hurt all the more.

She shook her head stubbornly. "That's not true." She replied, hating the way her voice broke. She could feel Legolas' eyes on her too and the force of both elf and man made her turn away. "You don't have to come with me but I'm going after him. I won't leave Gandalf alone in that place." She only took a step before Aragorn was in front of her, looking at her with such pain and understanding that she felt her chest constrict.

"He's dead Lyra. Gandalf is dead and if we don't stick together, we will be too." She shook her head at his words, weaker this time.

"I need you here Lyra, with me. Can you do that?" he asked, as though he was speaking to a child. She refused to look up until his finger found her chin and lifted. "You wouldn't leave me would you?"

"No." she broke, then said stronger. "No I won't leave you."

"Good." He tried to smile at her but it seemed neither of them had the energy to pretend. "You're injured." Aragorn said, his voice filled with pain, his shoulders bowed.

"I'm fine." She whispered, her throat dry.

"You get the hobbits. I'll take care of her." Legolas offered. If she had not been in shock, she would have reacted with surprise and suspicion. But she merely watched Aragorn's retreating figure until Legolas grabbed her arm and swung her to face him with little gentleness.

"How did you do that?" He demanded. His eyes were dark and hooded as they studied her and in that moment, Lyra hated him. Did he not care that their companion had died not moments ago?

"Do what?" She asked, despite knowing exactly what he was talking about. The sun warmed her face, but still she shivered with tremors that made her teeth chatter.

"You killed that orc-" His eyes were trained on her face as if they were in a battle, seeking any weakness.

"I killed quite a few hopefully." She muttered. He held her with bruising force, his fingers shaking in rage or sorrow, she wasn't sure. If they were back in Rivendell, she might have slapped him- or at least tried to. She doubted she was fast enough to get away with it. But Gandalf's death seemed to drain her of strength until she no longer cared what he thought of her.

"How do you know that was me? That orc could have just been sick or crazy." She protested weakly, knowing how terrible her excuse sounded.

"I want the truth Lyra." It was her name that gave her pause and made her look up at him, almost fearfully. Not fear of him but fear of what she had done, what she might be capable of. The possibilities made her head spin.

"I had no idea. I don't know how-" she broke off and shut her eyes tightly, a wave of apathy washing over her. Compared to what happened, what they had just lost, what she had done- no matter how unexpected- didn't seem as important. She pulled away from him sharply and he let her stumble a few steps back. "I don't need to explain myself to you." She growled, pulling her anger around her like a protective cloak.

"We'll find out soon enough." He stepped back, all traces of anger gone in the blink of an eye. Although his words were mild, almost bored, his eyes were haughty and challenging. If she had been another elf, she might have had the desire to cower or at least avert her eyes. Unfortunately for him, she was not that type of elf at all.

"What do you mean?" She asked, suspicious. "How could you possibly-"

"Lady Galadriel asked me to keep an eye on you." At her stunned silence, he added, "In the beginning, I wondered why. There's nothing remotely special about you but now, we know the truth."

"Why would she ask you to do that?" Lyra asked, her thoughts foggy, chasing each other around her head so that she was unable to think coherently. She couldn't _think_. All she could do was _feel._ And his words scared her.

"There is a traitor in our midst, one that could lead to the destruction of this world." A terror like she had never known bit deep inside her, claiming her. This was not an enemy she could fight. How could you fight what was inside you? And with this new ability surfacing, it all seemed like too much of a coincidence not to hold weight. The Lady Galadriel knew everything; Lyra found it hard to believe she could ever make a mistake. She would never betray the company, would she? Could she? She didn't think so. But a nagging thought entered her mind. An hour ago, she hadn't thought she could kill an orc with poisonous thoughts either.

"She told you that?" She was barely able to whisper out, her insides flaring with ice. "She accused me of-"

"She didn't have to. I saw it in her eyes."

Some of the frost in her melted as relief flooded through her. She eyed him critically, annoyance replacing the fear she felt. "I haven't done anything. I don't plan to do anything. Gandalf trusts me." She broke off and swallowed. "Trusted me." She corrected. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

"The wizard can-could have made a mistake." He replied stubbornly, only now tying a bandage around her arm. Even though his hands were gentle, the callouses on his fingers caught at the bloody gash. She pulled away from him and grabbed the bandage from his hand in one hasty move.

"The blade that did that could have been poisoned." He added, watching her struggle to tie the cloth around her arm with expressionless eyes. She gave up and knotted it, taking one edge in her mouth and pulling it tight until the wound stopped flowing freely. A red stain grew as the blood seeped into the bandage. She still didn't feel the pain. She almost wished she could have.

"It's a wonder you didn't keep it a secret and let me die. That way you'd be happy and couldn't even be blamed for my death." She snapped back. A look of surprise flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by a bored smile. She doubted anything she cold ever say to him had the ability to touch him. Nothing could break through that cold façade, perfected over thousands of years no doubt.

"We will be in Lothlorien before nightfall. I doubt you'll die before then." He took her uninjured arm and steered her towards the rest of the group. Even though they were all standing, the hobbits looked ready to collapse at any moment. Merry and Pippin were still shaking from tears. Their short gasps of breath told her that they were trying to control their grief and failing. Sam's tears had dried, leaving his eyes bloodshot and trained on one figure standing a little apart from the rest. Frodo's dry eyes were almost worse. They were lifeless, like he had withdrawn so far into himself in an attempt to escape the pain.

"Try not to slow us down too much." He hissed in her ear before leading the way out from the mountain's shadow and towards the forest miles away. After the rest of the company had turned away, Lyra lingered and took one last look at the stone walls that held the body of her friend. She closed her eyes against the tears and bowed her head towards the mountain face, giving the wizard one last farewell.

Then she turned away and began to run.


	10. Golden Woods

" _There is only one thing I fear in life, my friend: One day, the black will swallow the red."_ - **Mark Rothko**

* * *

They seemed to run forever and only a moment. For Lyra, getting further away from the mines of Moria was a reward in itself. At the same time, the new knowledge Legolas had given her soured any desire for the Golden Woods ahead and even secured a splinter of fear in her that worked itself deeper and deeper with every step they took.

If what Legolas said was true, would the Lady have her killed on sight? Would she break her mind trying to find whatever secrets were hidden so dark that Lyra herself did not know? Her father would be devastated. Is that why he let her go? Did he know what she was capable of, that the action of killing would one day fill her mind with pleasure instead of disgust? She still remembered the thrill of ecstasy when the orc had fallen to the ground, when his limbs had grown still, when the life had left his body.

So, when they arrived at the border where the empty plain gave away to thick trees, it was with bated breaths that Lyra forced herself to follow the rest of the company into its shade. If not for her promise to Aragorn not to leave him, she would have been tempted to turn around and go back the way she had come. She could always return to Rivendell. At least, she thought she could. Surely her father's love had not grown to hate in such a short amount of time.

Her very thoughts felt poisonous. What is she hurt someone else? Elrohir and Elladan would be the first to go, she realized with horror. How many times had they pushed her to the brink of insanity by their constant teasing?

In a moment of annoyance, would they end up like the orc? No. She shook the thoughts away and eyed Legolas. If that were true, the elf prince would have fallen long ago. Nonetheless, it was disconcerting at best and terrifying at worse that she had no knowledge of command over this strange ability.

The situation all seemed so preposterous that she began to wonder if she had only imagined it. The feeling of Legolas' keen eyes constantly studying her deflated that notion. Despite the beauty of the forest around her, she struggled to find it in her heart to appreciate it. Her home of Rivendell seemed to bring out the most beauty of the land around it. It reminded Lyra of autumn when the land appeared to grow weary, leaving everything in a slight amount of disarray. The pale light seemed to be in a constant state of sunrise or sunset. Everything about Rivendell was fragile and gentle, like the land's last grip on life before it bowed and allowed winter to consume it. Lothlorien's beauty overshadowed everything around it. Even the light of the forest seemed to stem from something other than the sun, trapped above the trees.

"Stay close little hobbits. You too." Gimli nudged Lyra with the butt of his axe. "Thy say a sorceress lives in these woods and all who look upon her fall under her spell."

Legolas stilled, glancing at the branches above them. She had the sinking feeling of being watched but every time she looked up, all that met her eyes was the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

"Are you listening to me?" Gimli pestered, eying her with something akin to concern.

"What?" she glanced down at him.

"Typical elf." He grumbled. "Paying far too much attention in what happens above your heads. You need to stay grounded." He stomped his foot to prove his point. "Solid earth." He replied with a satisfied grunt.

"I'm sorry. I was just-" she broke off, unwilling to divulge how jittery the forest was making her. "I haven't seen trees like these before." She finished lamely.

"Silly girl." He snorted again. "Well. This is one dwarf she won't ensnare. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox."

The archers seemed to appear from the air itself. One second they were alone and the next- they were surrounded, with several tightly notched arrows pointing at each of them. Even the small hobbits were not exempt from their clear warning.

One elf stepped forward, his eyes scanning over the fellowship with the briefest flicker of his blue eyes. He didn't look remotely happy with what he found.

"The dwarf breathed so loud we could have shot him in the dark." His words were forced and practiced, each word drawn out; giving the impression that he did not speak the common language often. Still, he signaled the archers to lower their bows and greeted them with a thin layer of civility.

Aragorn gave the elf a small nod of his head in greeting. "Haldir, I suspected you would be the one patrolling." It was impossible to tell if Aragorn was relieved or not by this fact. The two spoke in fervent whispers with their heads bowed closely together. Aragorn's expression was almost pained and there was a strange glint of desperation in the lines of his body. For his part, Haldir listened, his guarded eyes dancing over each person, studying them with an almost predatory stare.

Legolas was accepted into the small group with seemingly no thought. He was a prince after all. And elves, all except for her, seemed to be drawn towards him, respected him.

Feeling distinctly out of place, Lyra kept close to the hobbits, trying to ignore the curious glances of the elves. A few tried to speak with her but she refused to say more than a few words. It was clear they were wary of her and the reason was also clear- Galadriel had warned her guards to expect them, to expect _her_. What use was it to banter words with those who already had preconceived notions about her?

"These elves are a little scary-worse even than your brothers." Pippin had stuck close to her side since they had begun walking and now he waved her down to his level and whispered his fear in her ear.

"They won't hurt you Pip. They have no reason to." She tried to soothe the hobbit but the waver in her voice must have given her away.

"And what about you? They won't hurt you either right?" The hobbit had more sense than Lyra had given him credit for, she realized grimly.

"I hope not."

He didn't look particularly pleased by that and wrinkled his nose as if he had caught a bad smell on the air.

"Don't worry Lyra. We'll protect you." He said in a voice so determined that for a moment, Lyra felt some of her fear melt away.

"Okay." She smiled.

"It's time to climb." Haldir said, pointing to the stairs that twirled around the thick trunks until they disappeared in the twinkling canopy overhead. Here, light didn't seem to just shine. It glittered until the darkness faded from black to blue. The night here was softer. Instead of promising danger- like it had in the Mines, it beckoned the weary visitors to lay down their heads and sleep. Still, each of the company carried a piece of _something else_ with them. She imagined the grass under their feet turning black and dry, leaving an ugly trail to prove what they had seen, what they had been through. And they still had so much further to go, Lyra thought with despair. What would their trail to Mordor look like?

And she was just so _tired_. The important thoughts in her mind had turned into a jumble of confusing emotions. All she was left with was an aching emptiness that reminded her something important had been taken. _Gandalf._ She closed her eyes against the pain and allowed her mind to wander, away from Lothlorien, away from the towering trees that surrounded her and filled the air with the smell of earth. Her mind wandered back to the jagged entrance of the caves, where everything had looked dark and unfriendly. She wondered what would happen to the body, what had happened already. Would he sit there for years and time would slowly erase all memory of him? Had he fallen into water? Perhaps he was now being swept back and forth by the dark current that ran far beneath the rock. A pang of pain stabbed at her gut at the thought. So wrapped up was she in morbid thoughts-thought that definitely didn't belong in a place like Lothlorien- that she failed to notice they had stopped climbing.

It was almost as if the glow of light around them was a forewarning of their presence, giving the guests time to collect their thoughts. Then Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel descended to meet them. Lyra could almost hear the thoughts chased from everyone's mind.

It wasn't their beauty. Lyra had been surrounded with the beauty of elves her whole life. It was more than that- deeper than that. It was the wealth of shadows they seemed to keep within them while still possessing the light of the stars in their eyes. It was the resilience to the darkness that seemed imbedded in their very nature. She doubted Galadriel had ever entertained the type of thoughts that Lyra would frequently find slipping into her mind.

Lady Galadriel's voice was an enigma. Like everything else about the lady, it was strong. The power of it alone kept the company suspended to a single moment. A few words would send the hardened warriors' eyes down in despair only to glance back up in hope. She gave them hope. And if Lyra had learned anything, it was that hope was a dangerous thing. But it was also impossibly gentle and brushed over every one of Lyra's scrapes and wounds as a soothing balm. It quieted the angry and frightened voices in her head, the voices she had failed to silence for years, ever since her dreams had grown dark. Soon enough, Lyra found herself alone with no whispered insecurities or stubborn complications. And then all at once, she found herself alone with the Lady. She wasn't exactly sure how it happened. She hadn't even been aware of the others being led away. She didn't see Aragorn's hesitance to leave or Legolas pause before hurrying away.

All she knew was the Lady's entire focus was now on her and it filled her with both adrenaline and horror.

"It is time we talked. I confess I have been impatient to meet my granddaughter for some time now." Surprised by her words and gentle manner, Lyra had merely nodded uncertainly before- unable to hold it in any longer- she had addressed the problem that had kept her mind in a whirlwind of doubt and panic for the past several hours.

"You told him to watch me." She said, sounding more like a confession than an accusation.

"Legolas' idea of looking after you was slightly different than what I had intended." She answered, her light voice wry with amusement.

 _Ah._

"You must forgive him my dear. His father's fears have finally fallen to him." She explained, growing troubled now.

"Fears?" Lyra echoed, trying to imagined a frightened Legolas. It was nearly impossible.

"Evil fights for a foothold in this world once again. Legolas is afraid for his people." The lady explained.

"Do you know everything- that happened I mean?"

Galadriel nodded once. Lyra fought the desire to bury herself under a rock and hide there for years.

"I do." There was not the slightest hint of judgment or reprimand.

"It's not what I did that worries me. I could do the same with a bow or an arrow but it's the way I felt-" she paused to take a deep breath, before forcing the words out of her mouth, the words she knew would make the Lady hate her. "I enjoyed killing it. I wanted it to feel pain-" she broke off, feeling spent with only a few sentences.

"And therein lies your struggle my dear." Even the sound of the water bubbling beside them couldn't be as light as Galadriel's voice, as though her words hadn't pinned Lyra to the floor with heavy weights. She spoke as if her words meant nothing at all, like the slightest breeze could send them tumbling away in the air.

"I still don't understand how or why I have this." Lyra said, hoping for an explanation.

"Even I only hold suspicions and they are not yet ready to be brought to light." Lyra nodded, knowing that no amount of begging or cajoling would make the lady relent. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know.

"Rest assured Lyra that this ability is not a curse. Just like your speed with a sword or your gifted sense, it can benefit you and help protect others."

"When I –did it- I didn't feel like I was protecting anyone. I was just killing." She whispered.

"But you were protecting Legolas." Galadriel smiled, closing her eyes and bringing the memory to mind. She seemed satisfied with it.

"I don't think he appreciated it." Lyra mumbled, worrying the edge of her shirt with her fingers.

She laughed in reply. "Legolas is very young in some ways and ancient in others. It is so for all elves."

"Does it not get lonely for you my Lady, that everyone respects you so? To be the oldest and wisest-" she cut off her wonderings, realizing that it was probably not polite. They had only just met, after all.

Instead of looking offended like Lyra feared, Galadriel seemed surprised, as though no one had ever asked that question of her before.

"Even with my wisdom, you surprise me child. I have my Celeborn and that is all I need. You will see that for yourself one day."

She brought her hands together, all fluid grace that made Lyra feel like a blundering dwarf in comparison. "You are tired. I can feel it. Go and rest child. You have earned it."

* * *

"Gimli, could you leave us for a moment?" Lyra froze at Legolas' voice before glancing up at Gimli and softly shaking her head.

 _Stay,_ she mouthed.

"Where have you been lad?" Gimli asked gruffly. The elf's bow and arrows were absent but he looked no less deadly and currently, those eyes were fixed on her.

"I was speaking with the Lady." he answered Gimli before turning back to her. Lyra ducked her head and continued to fletch arrows. "I'm trying to apologize." She looked up, at once suspicious of his words.

"Did she yell at you?" Lyra asked instead.

"The Lady of Lorien never yells." At her fallen expression, he pressed, "Are you disappointed?"

"It would have been amusing to picture." She shrugged.

"Lady Galadriel doesn't have to raise her voice to make something feel-less. I've seen the error of my ways." He grit out through clenched teeth.

And?" she pressed after he remained silent for several seconds.

"And I thought I should tell you."

She waited a moment for the rest but Legolas just stood there facing her, as if he were waiting for her to speak.

"You don't do this often do you?" she cocked her head at him.

"Do what?" He echoed.

"Apologize." She smirked.

"Why would you think that?" his hands were behind his back and his posture was perfect but Lyra got the distinct feeling that he might be nervous, or at the very least uncomfortable.

"Because that might have been the worst apology I've ever gotten and that's saying something. I live with Elrohir and Elladan after all."

A wry grin caught at his lips as his shoulders relaxed a little. "What should I do then?" It was the first time he looked at her like she wasn't something to be wary of. He had dimples, she realized with a start. How could that be princely?

"Hmm?" she hummed, shaking her head and returning to her work.

To her surprise, he lowered himself beside her. "Perhaps a favor would earn my forgiveness."

"A favor?" she echoed dubiously.

"A favor from a prince is nothing to snivel at." His tone had changed so drastically that she felt dizzy trying to keep up. Only days before, she felt that the prince hated her and now he spoke to her the way he might a young child.

"I have no use for princes." She paused to consider the offer. "Still, I might have use for your bow and arrow later."

"Is that so missy? At least give me fair warning to leave the room first." Gimli chuckled.

It took her a full minute to realize the double meaning in her words. She turned red and balled her hands into fists. "You have a filthy mind Gimli."

"Come now. You're young. It's natural to have these feelings. At least you're being honest about them." He continued to poke fun, clearly feeling better at her expense.

"Leave her alone Gimli." Legolas warned.

"You don't have to protect me." She shot to her feet, glaring at them both. The embarrassment made her cheeks radiate heat.

"If you hadn't noticed, I was defending my own honor as well." He added through grit teeth.

"Your honor?" Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Well I suppose your honor would be tainted by the thought of-" she broke off, unable to say the words- "with a half elf."

"That has nothing to do with it." He protested, fixing the dwarf with a glare. "This is all your fault."

"Don't blame Gimli." She sniffed, placing her hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

"Forgive me." Legolas said and Lyra could tell how much control it was costing him. "I only meant that-"

"And stop asking forgiveness if you plan on offending someone seconds later."

Gimli's eyes watched their conversation like it was a sword match, occasionally wincing when she blundered over her words.

Legolas put his finger on his forehead and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath. Lyra knew she was being childish but whenever the prince was around, it seemed she had no control over what came out of her mouth. He had made her life miserable since Rivendell. Surely, she was due some opportunity to return the favor.

Finally, he opened his eyes and smirked as though he had thought of the perfect answer.

She interrupted him before he even had the chance to start- "I'm tired. I need some sleep."

She didn't hear Gimli chuckled after she walked away or see the way Legolas' eyes followed her. "You've got a lot to learn about women lad."


	11. Lessons and Rivals

" _I'll lie here and learn_

 _How, over their ground,_

 _Trees make a long shadow_

 _And a light sound."_

 _ **-Louise Bogan**_

* * *

Lothlorien was just as beautiful as Lyra had been told her whole life. But she didn't notice any of it. The first day was a blur of new and familiar faces. The entire fellowship seemed to be caught in a similar dream like state. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if they were wading through deep water, like every move they made pushed back against them with equal force. Before they had reached the border of the forest, sheer exhaustion had kept their minds busy. Now, after sleep and food, their bodies had grown stronger but the dark realization of what they lost and what they still had to face was too strong even for the light of Lothlorien and the Lady to diminish completely.

Lyra came to realize she was not the only member of the fellowship with her thoughts fixed in the past. After sharing a meal with the hobbits, she chose to wander under the dark skies and fading leaves. The air in the forest was clean and pure, with the fresh scent of trees and grass and everything good.

She had not gone far before her ears caught a faint noise. Soft crying. She followed the sound to its source several feet away. She only hesitated for a moment when she came upon a short, broad dwarf sitting alone in the grass, throwing stones carelessly into the small stream that bubbled nearby.

"Gimli." He froze, refusing to turn and face her and she feared she knew why. Slightly unsure, she sat beside him and hesitantly put her hand on his shoulders.

"I am sorry." She said plainly. The dwarf merely nodded and dabbed his wet cheeks with his beard.

"I had heard tales of the dwarves in Erebor. Most elves do not care for dwarves but I always thought they sounded like good fun."

A strangled laugh escaped his lips as he peered up to look at her. "You're a strange one girl."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Now that I have met you, I know they are both brave and honorable."

"True." He muttered then sighed again. "Moria lost to darkness. Who would have thought such dark times would be mine?"

"Dwarf kingdoms have been lost in the past and recaptured. Who's to say that could not happen again?" She offered him a small smile as a glimmer of hope bloomed behind his eyes. They stayed by the stream for hours, well into the night and she listened while Gimli told her of his love for his people and their deeds, both large and small. He told her of their ferocity in battle but also their love towards the young and innocent. That night, something in Lyra began to piece itself back together.

* * *

The next morning, she awoke to find the entire fellowship gathered. It was a mere accident. The hobbits were always together of course. Aragorn and Legolas spent much time in council and decided to sharpen their swords and daggers by the fire the hobbits used to roast sausages on. She wondered where they found meat in a place that did not kill animals. Boromir and Gimli snored late into the morning, nestled among deep tree roots. It was a peaceful sort of acceptance she found herself in.

She had only just sat down when a tall familiar elf strode in. He greeted Legolas and Aragorn and ignored the rest, until his attention fell on her.

"The Lady wishes to see you." His words were clear and sharp, not aggressive but not particularly friendly either.

Lyra glanced behind her. No one was there. "Me?" She asked.

He grunted in reply and raised an eyebrow when she failed to stand.

"Now?" She gasped, stumbling to her feet.

"Now." He nodded, tapping his finger to his side, the only show of impatience he allowed.

"You're a lucky one lass." Gimli smiled. His mood had improved significantly in the last few days. It seemed dwarves were more resilient than she had imagined. Ignoring the curious looks of the fellowship, she hurried after Haldir who had already turned away and begun to walk.

"She didn't happen to mention why she wanted to see me?" Lyra brushed the dirt on her hands onto her pants, trying to make herself as presentable as possible. Of course, all this resulted in was clean hands and two muddy stains on her leggings. Though she normally didn't care about her appearance, she wished she could have time to change into clean clothes at least.

"No." Was his short reply.

"I hope it's nothing- bad. I can't think of anything I've done bad lately. But perhaps I have." Her mind swam with possibilities, each more horrible than the last.

"Do you do so much that you cannot make out a single transgression from the rest?"

She didn't catch the sarcasm in his voice and instead her mind fixed itself onto his words. "I guess it depends on what kind transgression we're talking about." If the March warden was one to roll his eyes, he would have at that very moment.

"I mean perhaps I play too many tricks on my brothers but I've always been nice to Arwen. Legolas may be a different story. Maybe he complained to her of my treatment. I guess sometimes I'm a little careless. At least that's what people tell me." She didn't even hear herself rambling on and on until they began to climb.

They reached the top far too fast in Lyra's opinion and for a second time, she was left alone with the Lady. And also for a second time, Galadriel did not give Lyra occasion to feel uncomfortable.

"Peace child. I sense much uncertainty in you. Rest assured I have not called you here for reprimand." The voice set her mind at ease as naturally as being called into her presence had set her in panic.

"Oh good. Every bad thing I've ever done flashed before my eyes walking here." Lyra confessed.

Galadriel laughed and motioned for her to sit. "That is a short list from what I know of you."

"Not according to my brothers I'm sure." Lyra settled into a chair next to the Lady and tried not to slouch.

"I confess I am quite fond of the twins." The Lady offered her a plate of berries before taking one herself.

"So am I. I just can't tell than that." Lyra agreed.

They talked of insignificant, happy things for several moments. And when Lyra was completely at ease, Galadriel began.

"Have you given any thought of your next move?" She asked carefully, her pale hair gleaming in the sun, giving the distinct impression of a glowing crown.

Lyra's eyes widened in surprise. This was not the conversation she had expected. She had not even had it with herself. Perhaps she had known all along. Galadriel saw the answer in her eyes and nodded in acceptance.

"Your father will not be pleased. Your agreement was only to reach Lothlorien before turning back."

"I know. I know that and I hate-" she tried to swallow but it was difficult. She had a chance to go back home, to forget about dying, to sail away from the darkness that refused to be stopped. After all, what could she do? But still, there was something that pushed her forward, something that hurt worse than the thought of disappointing her father- the thought of losing the company.

"I can't abandon them. I won't. They may not need me but if I can help them, I will." She said, feeling at odds with the tremor in her voice.

"My dear, they may need you yet. The question is, do you need them?"

"I'm not sure I understand." Lyra said, trying to untangle the Lady's words.

"Not yet perhaps but one day, I think you will." Lyra didn't need to feel the eyes in her mind to know she was being tested.

"If you are sure of your path, it won't hurt to prepare." Galadriel stood and walked over to the edge of the pavilion.

"Prepare?" She echoed.

"For one so young, your skill with your blades is commendable." Lyra glowed with the compliment. "Though I confess, news has reached me that your skill with a bow and arrow is somewhat lacking." Lyra's ego plummeted back down to the ground.

"No one is perfect my dear." Galadriel smiled kindly. "Elves are skilled in war but that does not mean we are good at it. Does that make sense?"

"No." She answered honestly.

"Elves hate war. We hold life as a sacred thing, not just our kind but the forests and rivers. Just remember that and you will be fine."

Lyra tried not to gape. It felt like the Lady had bestowed upon her some deep mystical wisdom and the words were twisting out of her grasp.

"I have chosen someone to help you if you wish it. Of course if you don't, he will show you around our fair city."

"Who?" Lyra asked uncertainly.

"If you would wait outside and send my march warden in?" Lyra knew a dismissal when she heard one.

"Of course my Lady." She stood quickly and gave a small bow. Haldir waited, motionless several levels down. "The Lady Galadriel wishes to see you now." She smirked. "I hope you haven't done anything worse than me." She couldn't help adding.

Ignoring her jibe, he ascended quickly. Before Lyra even had time to take a good look at her surroundings from the top of so massive a tree, he descended even more quickly.

"It seems I am to help you." He grunted, clearly displeased and began to walk, forcing her to hurry after even as she digested the news. "Do you have anyplace you wish to go, my lady?" He asked as they descended, with wide steps that left her jogging at his side to keep up.

"I'm not really sure. I don't know what the city offers." She glanced around them. Several elves had paused in their duties to nod at Haldir and throw curious glances at her- a strange half elf hurrying after him. "And you don't have to call me lady." She added after a second thought.

He stopped so suddenly that she would have run into him had she not been so tense and aware.

"But you are a Lady. Lord Elrond commands great respect here." He sighed and began to walk again, this time as a slower pace. "There are several clothing stores- new dress material. A few sell fine jewels." His words screamed his dread even if he would not give voice to it.

She grinned impishly, understanding his annoyance. No doubt he thought she would drag him around and force him to carry boxes of clothes for her.

"Actually I was wondering where the archery field is. Perhaps the weapons store. My sword was dulled on the orc armor in Moria." She said as innocently as she could. Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced up at him. "Would that be alright?"

A wry grin answered her. "I think we can manage that."

* * *

Time in the woods of Lothlorien seemed to slip by like water between Lyra's fingers. It could have been a single drop, just a few seconds or a flood of years. If not for the presence of Frodo and the ring that hung around his neck, she might have been able to forget about the quest, about the loss a dozen miles away.

It seemed Lothlorien did not want her to forget either. The entire forest seemed aware and alive when the elves broke into a song for Gandalf. Even with her fluency in Elvish, Lyra found it difficult to understand the words. They seemed to wash over her with power and not only sound. And as it washed through her, it took away a little of the hurt. She found she could smile again without the guilt or train the hobbits without imagining a jagged orc blade cutting through their small frames.

If possible, things between her and the elven prince had become even more awkward. Now, instead of looking at her with unbridled aggression, his gaze was openly searching, studying. When he was near, her senses seemed to become hyper aware so that she often wandered off soon after he arrived.

When Galadriel had charged Haldir with her keep and wellbeing, she could almost feel the resentment rolling off him. Several decades before, Arwen visited her kin in Lothlorien. She had returned to Rivendell with praise for the fair city and the wise elves that lived within it- all except for one. Haldir was too rough, uncivilized, and brutish in her gentle sister's opinion.

So when Lyra suddenly found herself alone in his presence, with all that intensity directed at her, she found herself intimidated by his warrior eyes and sharp tongue. The Lady seemed not to notice his less than graceful attitude. Or else, she simply chose to ignore it.

And so, he had met her every morning since then. To her surprise, Haldir turned out to be excellent company. In the beginning, his carefully guarded emotions had given her the distinct impression that he was only trying to hide his annoyance with her presence. But she soon discovered he acted that way with everyone. He was a serious elf. She supposed the one responsible for guarding his kin would have to be. But the more time she spent with him, the more she enjoyed herself. He commanded her respect naturally but she also discovered he had a quick wit and some sense of humor. He was also exceedingly patient with her, for which she was thankful. Although she had excellent skill with her blade, any skill with a bow and arrow evaded her. If the target was still and she had time to perfect her stance, she could at least manage to hit it. But if there was a mere whisper of breeze, she would miss. If the target was running or flying, she was hopeless.

Most days, Haldir could be counted on to correct her stance or control her breathing but often, he would be called to the border over a small company of orcs. She had considered asking to go along but she knew he would never allow it. Besides, with her bow, she would hardly be of any aid. It was these days that Haldir encouraged her to seek the assistance of one elf prince in particular. He seemed confused when she refused and claimed she just needed time alone to focus.

After their lessons, when Lyra was dripping with sweat or covered in dust, Haldir- annoyingly untouched- would sit beside her. Some days they would talk about the forest or her home or his duties. Other days, their conversation would lead to deeper things. It was to him she found herself confessing, "It was Gandalf who gave me my first sword lesson. I loved him for that. He actually believed I could be a warrior, not just Elrond's daughter."

"I only saw the wizard a handful of times but that was enough to realize Middle Earth lost something good. Goodness and power often don't mix but the wizard was pure."

Lyra only nodded and picked at the grass at her side.

"Have you given any thought of when you'll return home?" He inquired, glancing over to gauge her reaction.

Lyra froze at the question. It seemed no one except the Lady knew she planned to continue on with the fellowship. She had merely thought that if Galadriel knew, everyone else must too.

When she failed to reply, he added, "If you plan to stay in Lothlorien much longer, I thought of adding you to the guard. Of course, only after another year or so of practice. But a year is a mere blink for an elf."

The achievement of his acceptance warmed her. She of all people knew of Haldir's deep love for his people and the fierce responsibility of protecting them. If anyone was born to keep Lothlorien free of enemies, it was Haldir. Choosing to willingly make her a part of that was the highest compliment she could imagine from him.

"Even though that sounds wonderful, I'm not staying in Lothlorien." She hesitated a moment before confessing, "I'm going on to Mordor."

She felt him stiffen at her side. "Does the Lady know of this? Does your father?"

"The Lady knows. She approves. At least I think she does. My father-" She broke off and sighed. "No. If he did no doubt he'd be on his way and stop me before I had a chance to leave."

"Have you thought about this? Really thought about it?" He pressed, the intensity of his voice making her shiver.

"I have. I know I must seem like a child in your eyes, but I have to do this." She shrugged, refusing to allow herself to doubt her decision.

"I would never allow a child onto my guard. You are very young but you have wisdom. I confess I will miss your company." He said simply, honestly.

She couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face. "You like me that much huh?"

"Tolerable. Barely tolerable." He smiled back.

Soon after this, Haldir was called to the border so quickly she did not even have time to bid him goodbye. She only hoped he would be back before she departed for good.

Because of his absence, she often found herself alone at the archery field. Since his departure, it seemed the skill she had begun to improve on had slipped away. She drew an arrow back to her cheek and tried to control her breathing. She released. Miss. She groaned and selected another arrow with less grace. She fitted it to the bowstring, pulled back. Let go. The arrow hit the target, her first success. She gave a shout of victory.

It was only then she noticed there were two arrows. One was buried deep in the exact middle of the target. The other was in a tree a few feet to the side. She turned to find Legolas, his bow now at his side.

"Looks like you need some practice prince." She ground out, realizing her mistake but refusing to take responsibility for it.

"My arrow went exactly where I wanted it to." He replied evenly.

"You wanted to hit the tree?" She asked sweetly.

"My arrow isn't in the tree. That would be yours." He walked to her side and glanced at the arrows that littered the training field.

She grunted. "If that makes you feel better."

Instead of replying, he notched another arrow faster than she could ever imagine being able to and let it fly. She didn't even need to look to know his second arrow joined his first- dead center.

"I don't have anything to prove to you." She insisted.

"Nothing except that the arrow in the tree isn't yours, you mean?" If she didn't know him better, she could have sworn the prince was purposefully trying to rile her up. She slid the practice bow back in place with the others.

"Would you-would you like me to help you?" The words were hesitant, careful.

"Help?" It came out higher and sharper than she intended.

He nodded slowly, as if reconsidering his offer. "With your aim."

"No thank you." She decided on after a brief moment. That was polite wasn't it?

"You were content enough to accept help from Haldir." This time his words were laced with something more, something darker.

"That's different." She insisted.

"How?" He asked, fingers gliding over the smooth arch of the bow in seeming habit.

As she struggled to come up with a reply, another elf strode into the clearing. Lyra fought the urge to run away. Toneli was an elf that seemed to make it his personal duty to make sure Lyra's confidence remained nonexistent whenever Haldir was not around. Although he was tall and fair like most elves, his long hair was dark, almost black and his eyes held a spark of contention reserved only for her. Lyra knew why. Half elf. It was the first time in her life she had encountered such hatred directed towards her based on something she could not control.

After giving Legolas a long look, he turned to her. "I see your arrow is exactly where it was yesterday and the day before. In the tree. Must be a habit by now."

Lyra ground her jaw in annoyance, resentment pouring off her in waves.

"Relax Lyra." Legolas soothed her, putting himself between the two so her view of the dark haired elf was lost.

"I'm calm. I'm great." She seethed, giving the prince a glare.

"Good. Now get your bow." He said. To her surprise, she found herself doing his bidding. She stood a few feet away, suddenly uncertain and strangely shy. Legolas was the best archer in Middle Earth and here he was giving her a lesson. She hated the nervousness that washed through her.

"Show me how you stand." He commanded.

She took her stance, trying to ignore Toneli who had given up any pretense of practicing and was blatantly staring at the two. Legolas seemed not even to notice the attention. His foot prodding hers brought Lyra back to attention.

"Your stance is too wide. You're not tall enough for it."

She brought her feet closer together and saw him nod once. "Now notch the arrow."

She drew the string back until it tickled her cheek and held it while Legolas circled her. She felt his calloused fingers brush over the underside of her arm. "A little higher." His voice said, too close to her ear. He didn't give her the chance to be unsettled for too long and stepped back. "Better. Now relax." She eyes him in confusion.

"You're too tense." He clarified. She took a deep breath and willed her muscles to loosen. "Let go." She did. It wasn't a perfect shot but her arrow sunk into the target. She couldn't help but smile at her victory, no matter how small it was.

"Thanks." She forced herself to say.

"Anytime." He smiled back, some of his boyish quality beginning to show. It was times like these when it was all too easy for her to forget he was a prince.

"If you have all the time in the world to set up for a shot and someone to coach your every step, you might be able to hit the target every once in awhile." Toneli sneered.

"I wonder if you have the skills to back up your words." Legolas turned to the other elf for the first time, eyes cold as ice even while his face remained emotionless. He was a warrior through and though, Lyra realized. The ability to detach, to be aware every second, skills he had acquired over thousands of years. She would never be that good. Still, it felt better to have someone like him nearby, on her side.

"Who wants to know?" Toneli asked.

"This is Prince Legolas you're speaking to." She reveled in the shocked look in the elf's eyes. He quickly dropped into a stiff bow. "The best archer there is." She continued to goad.

Legolas turned to her in surprise. "Am I now?"

Lyra shrugged. "Well, that's what I'm telling him." She whispered back.

"Please forgive my harsh words my prince." Toneli forced the words out.

"It's not my forgiveness you need to ask for." The amusement he looked at Lyra with was gone in a second as he addressed the other.

The fact that she was happy to depend on his protection, his position hit her with bruising force and annoyed her enough to ask, "You might be able to best me with arrows but how about combat- hand to hand?" She heard herself issue the challenge like she was outside herself.

"You want a broken arm?" He snapped back.

"I won't be the one hurting after we're done." She promised, with a defiant smile.

"Lyra-" Legolas' voice was a soft warning.

"Just a quick match." She insisted, stepping towards Toneli before he had the chance to stop her. The other elf threw down his bow an arrow and smiled at her advance.

It only lasted a few seconds.

The other elf might be taller and stronger but she was faster and she had trained against opponents like him her whole life. Elves and men whose pride made them clumsy. She tuned their own weapon against them. Ten seconds and he was lying on the ground, grunting in pain, his lip bleeding, his eye beginning to swell. Only a few seconds and she was out of breath, with a sick feeling in her stomach. Even with someone as vile as Toneli, she had never injured one of her own kind before.

No. Dread seized her. She had injured one of Legolas' guards. How quickly this was becoming a habit for her, she swallowed thickly. A hand on her shoulder broke her attention away.

"Are you alright?" Legolas asked, real concern in his eyes at her reaction. Toneli stumbled to his feet and turned away without another word.

"Is he alright?" She asked, biting her lip.

He waved her concern away. "It's mainly his pride, being bested by a young girl."

She bristled at that. "I don't see why that should matter."

His eyes grew wide at her indigence. "Surely you can understand how humbling it must be. You are quite young."

"If failure leaves such a bad taste in the Mirkwood and Lothlorien elves' mouths, then it is lucky you do not live closer. For the elves of Rivendell excel at everything we do. " She snapped. For once, she was grateful of his presence distracting her from what she had just done.

Instead of taking offense at her words like she expected, the prince smiled and cocked his head to the side. "Shall we have a wager then, comparing skill?"

"I thought I already proved that I was superior." She smirked.

He took a step closer and she squashed the impulse to take a step back in return. "Not him. You and I."

"Why would I do that?" Her mind raced to come up with an excuse.

"Why wouldn't you?" He asked instead, seemingly bored.

"I hate to waste my energy unnecessarily."

He chuckled. "That's not what I've heard."

That caught her attention. "What have you heard?"

"I've been friends with Aragorn for years as well as Elladan and Elrohir." He circled her slowly, carelessly. This time, she turned with him, unwilling to let him get behind her. He stilled as her movements echoed his.

"Perhaps you'd like to continue practicing with the bow then?" He asked.

She grabbed onto the offer like a lifeline. "Yes." She said with a little too much enthusiasm then forced herself to shrug. "I mean I guess that'd be okay."

* * *

"Ugh." Lyra moaned, stretching her back and attempting to reach the muscles on her neck to work out the tight knots she felt there. "Ugh." It felt better just to say it, to give voice to the pain after biting her tongue against it for so long. Legolas had been just as patient as Haldir and seemed to understand her natural movements even better. When his eyes roved over her the first time, she had fought the urge to fidget and glare. She had come to realize that he was only studying her muscles- the way they pulled, the way they tensed when she pulled the string too far, how her left arm weakened before her right even though it was less flexible.

She was sure he did that with everyone he taught. Like the Lady Galadriel, Lyra had initially felt tense around the prince. But it was a different sot of agitation, like her whole body seemed to be aware of his every move. She had no doubt he was one of the most dangerous beings in Middle Earth but she allowed him to see her weakness and stood defenselessly by while he waited behind her, correcting her stance, turning her head and shoulder. It came with a kind of thrill she had never experienced before that confused her.

"I would have thought Lord Elrond would keep you in top shape." A teasing voice pulled her from her trance. Lyra swirled around, her eyes narrowing in irritation at the tall frame watching her. "Too tired to practice today?" He asked innocently, the spark of a challenge behind his eyes.

She grunted as she stood to her feet. "I'm a lot stronger than you think. Let's go." She allowed herself a grin, wondering just what she would learn new today.


	12. Rings and Their Keepers

_Just about the time your heart breaks like a wheel_

 _Not in a straight line, but all in pieces_

 _Some you'll leave behind on a road you won't revise_

 _No, you won't revisit that dirty compromise._

 _Now you only dream in peaceful blue_

 _The morning doesn't even scare you anymore._

 _You are a phoenix with your feathers still a little wet_

 _Baby, the ashes just look pretty on your eyes._

 **Deb Talan**

* * *

Time passed and Lyra had to confess she found it pleasant. Though she would refuse to admit it out loud, Legolas was a natural teacher and his patience most often outlasted hers. When she wanted to, Lyra could be a good student.

She had a passion for weapons that Arwen seemed only to have for a certain ranger and Legolas seemed to genuinely enjoy their time together. Sometimes it baffled her. It was true that her family always liked her company but then again, they had to. She had little opportunity to converse with many elves outside the guards in Rivendell so the idea that someone like Legolas, a prince who could have any companionship he wanted, chose to willingly send time with her was perplexing. Especially since she doubted most of his subjects treated him like she did. He had no haughty air like she originally assumed. Most days, after they began practice, she forgot he was royalty at all. He was something different to her, like Aragorn. The ranger in him completely overshadowed the potential king until she forgot he could take the throne of Gondor any time he wished. But both man and elf had gained her respect.

Aragorn she trusted completely. Legolas- she wasn't sure yet. Still, it was nice that their relationship had reached a civil level. There were days when his perfect archery skills would make her want to poke him with a blunt arrow. Or the way she witnessed other elves constantly bowing to him would push her to imagine ruffling his perfect hair. But she reminded herself that these faults were not his doing.

It was one of these days when Lyra found herself perfectly content to blurt out the first thing that entered her mind.

"I'm going with you all to Mordor." She said, ignoring the feel of his eyes on her and released the arrow she had been holding. Although she now could hit the target, she had never managed to hit the center.

"What was that again?" he asked, no doubt wondering what had happened to his perfect hearing.

"I've decided to-tag along." She pretended to tighten the string on the bow, keeping her eyes lowered.

"You've decided to tag along-" he repeated slowly. "To Mordor."

"Yes." She agreed.

"No." He said.

"What?" Her eyes flew up to meet his, green clashing with blue. She brushed her long hair from her eyes with a sigh, as the breeze grew stronger.

His eyes had turned cold again, she realized. In the back of her mind, she wondered how he could do that so quickly. She turned to fully face him and laid her bow down.

"I don't remember asking you. I was simply telling you."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that." He looked down at her and suddenly she was very angry at the difference in their stature. She tried to draw herself up to her full height but it didn't seem to achieve any intimidation on the other elf. If anything, he seemed oblivious to her attempt.

"What are you going to do? Threaten me again?" she demanded, upset that the news has been taken so badly by the first member of the fellowship she told. Would they all act like this? Perhaps they had only been nice to her because they knew her presence would be temporary.

"I didn't enjoy acting like that before. It's just when I thought you were dangerous." He clenched his fist as his side, as if he was stopping himself from grabbing her or perhaps shaking her.

"I am dangerous." She said, feeling particularly violent at that moment.

"You know what I mean. Dangerous to the quest." They regarded each other in silence for an uncomfortable stretch of time. "I could command you to stay here. I am a prince. I have authority."

"You're not my prince." She tried to ignore the hurt his words caused.

"Yes, you seem to enjoy constantly reminding me of that fact." He growled, tapping his calloused fingers on his leg. She got a jolt of strange pleasure from the knowledge that she was annoying him.

"Besides the Lady would never allow it." She allowed herself a small smile of victory.

"You're one stubborn elleth." He ground out, clenching his jaw.

"You're not responsible or me, no matter what promises you made my father. I don't expect you to protect me." With that she strode off.

He let her go; she almost wished he had tried to stop her.

* * *

"Are you two arguing again?" Merry piped up. After storming off, she had literally run into the hobbits who were attempting to catch some of the fish from a nearby stream. She settled herself on the ground next to them and ran her fingers over the green grass, hoping the touch of nature could soothe her anger. It was no use. Just as the hot edge of her temper began to cool, Legolas and three other elves had appeared on the bridge above them. Even though Legolas didn't look their way, Lyra knew he was aware of their presence.

"Something like that." She ground out, shooting glares at the back of his neck.

"Are you trying to hurt him with your eyes?" Pippin giggled at her intense expression.

She sighed. "Sometimes he's just impossible."

"It's odd." Frodo's blue eyes were so large Lyra felt they might swallow her up.

"What is?" she traced the outline of a flower petal that had fallen beside her. The leaves from above had begun to fall and though most of the forest remained green, there were traces of orange and yellow and a crispness that hung in the air that hinted of autumn's approach.

"Well I thought since you were both elves, you'd get along the best." Frodo's brow furrowed in deep thought.

"Yes, you seem more like a hobbit than an elf." Pippin said, sounding pleased. Lyra wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or not so she just shrugged.

They laid in the shade for a while, watching the elves above them with a sort of detached attention. It was only when a tall and slender elf in a plunging dress joined the male elves that those below sat up. At least Merry and Pippin did, with a sort of unabashed attention that Lyra felt herself huff in annoyance.

Why, she didn't know. The elf was beautiful with none of the human limitations that Lyra had inherited. While the elf was tall, impossibly slender, with straight blonde hair and perfect grace, Lyra was shorter and stockier, with wavy hair that never seemed to know its mind. She would never have the natural fluidity of elves. She often stumbled or tripped over branches in her bare feet when she wandered in the woods and returned to Rivendell with mud in her hair and scrapes on her knees. The elleth above them didn't look like she had ever bled.

"Close your mouth Pippin." She snapped. The young hobbit laughed apologetically and went back to catching fish, which consisted of staring intently at the water before plunging into the stream only to come up sputtering and emptyhanded. She wondered how long the hobbit could last on their own in the wild. Probably until their second breakfast, she supposed.

"Hey Lyra, why don't you ever wear anything like that?" Merry asked, looking her dusty pants and plain shirt over with something akin to disapproval. Lyra was strangely reminded of the twins 10 years ago. They had tried to persuade her into wearing dresses and after battling her refusal for a month, finally consented for pants to be made for her.

"Dresses aren't exactly comfortable when fighting or hiking or riding or even just sitting." She growled; she hated the things. "Besides, I wore one at Rivendell."

"Yeah but it was just that one time. Otherwise, you just look like a boy." After the others sent him a pointed look, he backtracked. "I mean you dress like a boy."

Their eyes flashed back and forth between the two elleths in comparison until Lyra felt she might pound them each on their curly heads.

"Legolas doesn't seem very interested in her." Sam whispered to her consolingly. Lyra blushed deep red, ignoring the farewell kiss that Legolas bestowed upon a dainty hand above.

"Doesn't matter to me. I don't care. He can do whatever he wants and I'll do whatever I want." She shook her head and wondered how hobbits developed such crazy notions in the first place.

That night, when the fellowship had once again gathered, she chose to break the news. Only Legolas was absent and since he already knew, she saw no benefit in him being there. If anything, his disapproval would only cloud the others' opinions.

"That's great!" Pippin exclaimed. Merry and Sam nodded excitedly as well. Even Frodo offered her a small smile.

Gimli huffed. "Another elf to put up with." Seeing her fallen expression, he hastened to add, "Well, you're decent company and good with a blade. Bah, alright. I suppose I can put up with another elf." In a more serious tone, he added, "It'll be good to have you with us lass."

It was Aragorn's words she feared the most. Out of everyone, it was his respect she craved. He was family and she could not brush off his words as easily as she could Legolas'.

"Lyra, your father-" Aragorn looked torn.

"This is my decision Aragorn." She cut him off before he could finish his thought.

Lyra didn't hear Legolas join the clearing until he murmured a soft greeting to the group.

"Legolas, Lyra is thinking of joining. What do you think?" Lyra wasn't sure if the ranger honestly wanted the elf's opinion or if he was merely hoping for reinforcement to convince her not to go.

The entire fellowship seemed to hold their breath. The disagreements between the two elves had been well known but they also noticed that recently the relationship had softened.

"It will be good to have another elf along." Was all he said. Shocked, Lyra didn't even hear Aragorn and Boromir's continue to list reasons she should not go.

Eventually, Legolas glanced down to meet her eyes.

"Thank you." She said, albeit rather stiffly.

"I have a meeting of my kin to attend." He announced to the group in general. "I will see everyone in the morning for our parting." She watched him until his silent footsteps carried him away, wondering if she would ever understand males. No matter their race, they always seemed to act in cryptic ways.

When the group had dissipated and only she and Aragorn were left, she readied herself against the conversation that was sure to come. He didn't disappoint.

"Lyra, I can't let you go."

"What is it with everyone telling me they can't let me like they have some sort of control over it?" she couldn't help but smirk at the ranger. It was easier with him- unlike a certain elf prince who felt the need to make everything difficult.

"Lyra, I don't doubt your heart or your skill but nothing is certain for any of us now." His eyes fixed her with a serious stare.

"I know that. I've accepted it." She threw a stick into the fire and watched the sparks that lit up and faded just as quickly.

"Lyra, what am I supposed to tell Arwen?" He asked, barely a whisper. All at once, Lyra understood.

"You? What about me? That's my sister and you're the person she loves most of all. What kind of sister would I be if I let you get killed?" She turned the question back on him since she didn't have any answer at all. She could only imagine returning home without Aragorn and facing the pain of telling her sister.

"It's not your responsibility to protect me." He tapped on his pipe absentmindedly. The scent of burnt pipe weed filled the air.

"Just as it's not your to protect me." He contented himself with a glare, albeit a weak one and sighed heavily. The night swallowed up and hid his features from her. But the moon was bright enough that she could catch the worry lining his face. The sight pulled at something deep within her.

"Aragorn, I love you. I really do. In my eyes, you're already a brother. Of course I hope to call you on officially in the future but you're not my father. My father wants to keep me hidden away from anything bad in this world. But evil is spreading. You know this. I would rather fight than wait for it to reach me and do nothing."

"You could sail." He said in a last ditch effort. She knew how much that must have cost him for if she sailed, so would Arwen.

"I can't do that Aragorn. Neither of us can when we still love so much in this world." She said, gentle as she was able. The unsaid words were pulled taunt until he broke it with a confession- one that she knew he had carried from Rivendell.

"She will sail Lyra. She won't wait for me."

Lyra wasn't sure how to react or even how she was supposed to feel. Of course her sister would live with her family across the sea. Across the water, she had the opportunity of eternity. But there would be no Aragorn beside her. In the end, she chose the most honest words she knew- ones that spoke of her faith in her sister. "Love always waits. And Arwen loves you. I'm going to help keep you safe until I can return you to her."

"So young with so much hope." He smiled at that, giving her an affectionate pat.

"Estel, you may be old but I think we both may live up to your namesake."

"Your brothers are a thousand years and you call me old?" He raised an eyebrow.

"So is my sister Aragorn." She reminded him.

"How beautiful she is for her age." He grinned. Their laughter rose into the night, as pure as the air above them.

* * *

One day passed. And then another. Or maybe it was only the seconds falling by them. Lyra had given up trying to keep track of something that seemed not to exist within the borders. Her wounds were now completely healed as was the fear in her heart. She didn't constantly worry about killing another like she had in the mines. The feeling of peace and safety had Lyra in a hazy grasp.

And then one night, it was broken. Lyra was torn from sleep with horrors that her waking mind could not seem to grasp. A mass of pain and loss whose faces were forgotten as soon as she bolted awake. Only the feelings lingered. Feelings of fear and anger. Wrongness. The bedroom she slept in became suffocating in a matter of seconds. She was out the door and among the towering trees before she could breath again. She walked, not sure where her feet were taking her, only feeling the need to be away from where she was. She walked until she met two figures, both familiar. One was tall and fair- the other small and solemn. Frodo didn't even seem to see her as he disappeared from the clearing. But Lady Galadriel beckoned her forward, towards a dais with still dark water atop it.

With no small amount of trepidation, she mounted the steps.

"I offer this to you and to the ring bearer." She gazed down at the water, like it held countless secrets just below the surface. Her father used to describe skin like that- so misleading and deceiving.

"Why only Frodo and I?" She asked, torn between her two choices. Not for the first time, she wished Lord Elrond were here. He always seemed to have the wisdom to see beyond what baffled Lyra. At Rivendell, she had always pushed to be as independent as possible but now she wanted nothing more than for him to tell her what to do.

"The others already know who they are. They have no need for me to tell them." Even in the middle of the night, the Lady was regal in her demeanor.

"Aragorn too?"

"He knows who he could become and now it has come time for him to choose which path to take. Just as it has fallen to you to be the great unknown in the quest." The words cut to her core with their weight. The quest to save the world and she was a possible tipping point. She wondered what she had done to deserve such a burden. Maybe she teased her brothers one time too many.

"My Lady, will my presence be a hindrance? If I will not help them, it would be better to know it." She forced herself to speak the words even though they tasted bitter.

"You would stay in Lothlorien?" The Lady asked with something in her voice Lyra couldn't identify as being good or bad.

"If it will help them. I don't wish to stay. It's strange. I know the dangers. Even with that knowledge, I can't imagine being anywhere else except with them." She muttered, half to herself.

"Knowledge is not good or bad. It is power and it can be turned either way. That is what I am offering you." The Lady said instead, in her usual cryptic way.

Lyra studied the dark calm water in the bowl. "I'm stronger now. I will look." She decided with more bravado than she felt.

"Very well." The lady stepped aside as she climbed the steps. "But remember Lyra that power fades as quickly as our thoughts do."

Lyra nodded and took a deep breath before forcing herself to look down at the water. The trees above blocked out the stars but her reflection still glimmered with some hidden light. For several long moments nothing happened. Then the water began to ripple in waves. When Lyra blinked, she was gone. The forest was gone, as was Galadriel. But there was someone else. Aragorn. His familiar face lighted up in a smile and Lyra could have sworn he looked right at her before his grunt of pain. He fell, further and further, disappearing beyond her sight even as she struggled to scream. Her throat burned with the bonds that kept her silent.

Then, there was another. Only a voice and one strangely familiar.

"You have the tainted blood." It didn't speak with words. Instead she felt them echo inside her head, not gentle like the Lady's had been but brutal and piercing, with pain that was almost physical. Its voice ripped through her body with every breath, tearing her skin apart until she was left with gaping wounds. She could feel the sting of each one being applied with a branding iron- scarring her thoughts until they were as wounded as the rest of her.

"You will join him." The fire screamed inside her and she was back in the caves. They were all dead and the shadows moved around her. She sobbed openly, looking for a way out. There was none. The light was gone. Everywhere, it was gone. She crumbled to the ground as it all closed in around her. The heat consumed her. It was killing her from the inside out. Her blood boiled and the floor beneath her began to melt.

"Join your father." It whispered, leaving her alone and dying. She lay there, unable to move or even think. All she could do was _feel_. And everything she felt was horrendous pain.

She came to awareness slowly. Instead of melted stone and fire, she laid on cool green grass. Instead of the screams that had filled her mind, the sound of a brook babbling reached her ears. The bodies were gone and the only blood dotted Lyra's lip from biting it too hard. Only Lady Galadriel stood above her, looking away, tracing the outline of the water in her mirror. Lyra managed to stand, her arms shaking with shock. It took her several seconds studying her body to assure there was no damage. She had never felt so unhinged before- like everything that washer had been played with and rearranged in all the wrong places.

"What you have seen has not come to past. It may never. Do not let it darken your days while there is still light." Lyra almost blanched at the lady's words.

"How can I not? The things I saw-" she broke off, feeling sick. "My father…" she shuddered at the taste of blood in her mouth. _Tainted._ "Lord Elrond is fine, safe. My father is a great warrior." She said, not sure who she was trying to convince more.

Lady Galadriel merely looked at her, "Seeing is a great responsibility. It may help you if you allow it. But if you give into fear, it can drive you to insanity."

Lyra nodded weakly, her body shivering as her stomach fought to keep down what was in her stomach.

"We all play a part in this world. We try to spread light and destroy the darkness. Some do it by choosing love over hate, by healing others, by sacrifice. And others force the darkness away at has taken physical form. I know you have a part in this though I cannot see to which end. Perhaps you have yet to decide."

"I just want to know the truth. But it stays hidden from me." Lyra felt bone tired, like she had already trekked to the fires of Mordor.

"You will discover many truths on this journey. That at least I see. Some you can control. Others are no fault or choice of your own. You must decide how important each decision is, how much of your worth it will take." The Lady looked at her with kindness before running her finger over Lyra's jaw. "Go find your friends. They will lend you their strength. Rest tonight." Lyra closed her eyes as the gentle hand brushed her hair away.

When she opened her eyes, she was all alone.

Under the towering trees of Lothlorien, with its trained elven guards and the Lady watching over, Lyra had felt almost untouchable. It was all too easy to forget that evil waited just outside the borders, evil they would have to face soon. Tonight had been a rude reminder of the world that waited for them to re-enter it. She had sat in the forest for hours, trying to calm her raging thoughts. Eventually, the need for sleep claimed her and she picked herself up and headed back to camp. To her surprise, there was one person who was still awake.

"We leave tomorrow." Aragorn announced, as she took a seat beside him, soaking up his smell. It was a strange comfort- leather and horse and steel. He paused in his fletching of arrowheads to regard her.

"Alright." She leaned back, shoulder to shoulder. The night although pleasant, now seemed cold. "I will miss this place."

"You don't have to." He suggested, giving a playful tug on one of her braids.

"Nice try." She stared up at the sky. The stars were shadowed but the moon shone brightly through the canopy. "You're not getting rid of my that easily." She fell asleep next to the warmth of the fire and didn't dream once.

* * *

The fellowship woke with the sun their last morning. It was just as beautiful and peaceful as every other day in Lothlorien but Lyra could feel both impatience and hesitance. They had all recovered and were excited to get back on course. For so long, danger had remained outside the borders but now it was impossible to ignore they were running straight at it again. Still, for now that was all right. Those in their group weren't designed for peace. War it seemed suited their talents best. Lyra trailed behind the others. Legolas was talking with Aragorn and per usual, Lyra was situated somewhere between the four hobbits. Three sleek boats bobbed up and down on the river, waiting for them.

They paused beside the still water and looked towards the Lady emerging from the mist.

"I have parting gifts for each that may prove beneficial on your journey." She announced as two elves came forward, their arms filled with lembas and green cloaks.

The hobbits hurried forward, eager for presents. The others followed with a bit more restraint. She gave Pippin a distrusting look as he went straight for the bread.

First was Legolas who was presented with a regal looking bow from the Galadhrim with a string of elf hair. She wondered how many orc lives would be claimed by that one bow. Despite her dark thoughts, she couldn't help but smile at the look of wonder on Legolas' face as he tested the strength of the bow. A child with a toy, she smirked. She doubted any rare jewel or amount of gold could bring the same reaction from him.

Pippin and Merry also received weapons- small sheathed daggers, thought they did not provoke the same excited reaction as Legolas' had. The two hobbits took them carefully and Pippin looked especially worried. Galadriel must have whispered something in his thoughts because the glint of worry faded from his face as he strapped it to his side.

Sam was next and gratefully took the elven rope that was offered. As he blushed and softly inquired about the bright shiny daggers, Lyra also wondered of what use the rope could be. Gimli blushed even redder than Sam, though his beard hid much of it. When he asked for 3 hairs from the Lady, Lyra couldn't help the snort of surprised laughter. Legolas glanced towards her, whether to reprimand her or share in her amusement, she didn't know.

Boromir was presented with a golden belt which he just as soon fastened around his waist. Aragorn looked almost apprehensive as he waited. The Lady's words to him were too soft for even Lyra to catch. But from the way the Lady's eyes wandered to the chain around his neck, Lyra guessed what it must be about.

Frodo was given a phial of light and a kiss on top of his curly head. He looked so much older now- nothing like the hobbit who ran underfoot with Pippin in Rivendell. She wondered what Frodo had seen in the mirror. Still, if his experience was anything like hers, she'd rather not know.

And lastly, when Lyra 's thoughts still lingered on the night before, the Lady paused before her.

"For you, Lyra of Rivendell and my granddaughter, if not by blood, then by my heart- I offer this" she held out a delicate looking vial on a silver chain that glimmered with a faint green light. There was a small amount of liquid inside that sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight. Lyra brought it close to her eyes to study it. She could almost sense something inside it- something living, pulsing.

"I hope you never have to use it but should you ever find yourself in the darkest shadow, it will give you the strength to do whatever must be done."

Lyra hung it around her neck with a feeling of trepidation. The lady gave all her gifts wisely and Lyra knew she chose her gifts by need. The hobbits had wandered off to the edge of the water to test its temperature. Gimli and Aragorn began packing. Only Legolas lingered beside her. Lyra wasn't sure it the Lady wished him to stay or it was mere curiosity that kept him rooted beside her.

"And perhaps just as valuable as what is in that vial is advice I would offer to you."

Lyra looked up and met the Lady's eyes. She wasn't sure if the words were spoken or if they only echoed inside her mind.

"We are not only our appearance. You are both elf and other. Sometimes, appearance is only a disguise. We all hold something else. Sometimes we are made for more than we can see."

She combed back a strand of hair so that Lyra's pointed ears showed.

"Accept others' strength. Do not scorn it. Stay with the ones who would keep you safe as you would them. Sometimes the mere act of being together creates bonds of strength even I cannot see." She felt Legolas stiffed beside her at this but he didn't speak.

And then after Lyra had thanked the Lady with words that felt inadequate, there was one last gift. A familiar elf with broad shoulders and perfect posture. Haldir raised a hand in greeting as she hurried to his side.

"The Lady knew I wanted to say goodbye." To her great surprise, he took her hands in his and kissed her on the cheek, lingering for a moment to whisper in her ear. "Stay safe. I wish to see you again."

She pulled back, with a blush staining her cheek. "You too Haldir. I fear evil will spread, even to your borders."

"When you return, perhaps we will see about that guard position." He glanced at something behind her and his hand tightened around hers.

She smiled, feeling lighter than she had minutes ago. "Perhaps."

"I have my own gift to give- if you would have it." Lyra grinned in anticipation, her excitement causing her to bounce on the ball of her feet.

"What is it? An arrow that never misses? A bowstring?" she asked in a single breath. "I've been getting better you know."

He shook his head and pulled something from his pocket. Only when he opened his fist did Lyra catch a glimpse of a ring. It looked so strange- the delicate silver almost disappeared in his hand. She reached out to take it gingerly, like she was afraid a single touch might shatter it. Although Lyra had never been overly fond of jewelry, the ring was perfect- delicate, simple, and elegant. A silver band twirled around white stones.

"Haldir- this looks expensive." She paused, uncertain. "This is too much."

"It didn't cost me anything. It's been in my family for many generations and has come all the way from across the sea." Before she knew it, he had pushed the ring onto her finger. "I would like to think that it can survive in the best and worst places of Middle Earth."

"That's a beautiful thought but it's a family heirloom-" she bit her lip, even as she wriggled her finger to watch it shine and sparkle.

"Lyra." Her name on his tongue gave her pause. "I would like you to have it. Please."

She nodded and brushed her finger over it, touched. "Thank you. I'll take good care of it."

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. "Come Lyra. We must go." Legolas gave a sharp nod to Haldir and with his hand lingering on her back, gently pressed her towards the shore and the boats that waited.

"I thought you were angry at me." She said, taking his hand and clambering into the boat. She didn't notice the way his eyes lingered on her finger.

"You seem to do things whether I wish it or not so I merely shall pretend I wish it." He climbed in behind her and picked up the oar.

"Perhaps in time you will." She murmured as he pushed them into the current.

Lyra looked back towards the bank of the river as they floated off. Water lapped at the boat, soft and gentle. The Lady stood still, one arm raised in farewell shrouded in mist. Lyra wondered if she would ever see her again. Haldir stood several feet behind her, tall and proud. She glanced down at her ring and hoped she would one day have the opportunity to see it returned to him. She watched until they grew smaller and smaller in the distance and then the boats followed a bend in the river and they were gone.


	13. Smoking Mishaps

_I'm down to a whisper in a daydream on a hill_

 _Shut down to a whisper, can you hear me still?"_

 **Whisper- A Fine Frenzy**

* * *

The steady bob of boats in the water lulled Lyra for a little over a minute before her stomach began to rebel at the motion. The sun had barely begun to warm the land as she clenched the side of the boat until her fingers turned white. At least she hadn't had breakfast, she reasoned, fighting the lump in her throat that seemed to crawl higher and higher. If she had, no doubt it would be floating somewhere miles behind them. Pippin and Merry called to her, their voices shrill. Lyra thought they were far too excited given their current circumstance as she wearily lifted her head to regard them.

"I don't think Lyra's feeling well." Pippin told Aragorn plainly. The ranger looked her way before offering her a rueful and not entirely unamused smile.

"She'll be fine." He assured the hobbit. "Legolas is the best with boats."

"Not like you." Merry teased, purposefully swaying theirs back and forth. Lyra shuddered and looked away, unable to watch the rocking any longer.

"I don't suppose you get much practice on the water." Legolas commented behind her. She tried to block out the noise of the hobbits and men and instead concentrated on the sound of the paddle behind her dipping in and out of the water. Water sounded much better than it felt at the moment, she decided. In and out, back and forth, sure and steady.

"I'm fine when I'm in it but not on it." She managed to answer.

"There are many rivers near Rivendell." He pressed, unsatisfied with her answer.

She grunted.

"I would have thought your brothers trained you." Lyra tried to picture that and ended up with a brief mental image of pushing the twins into a river. It almost made her smile.

"After all, in the end, we all sail." His voice had a thoughtful undertone. Perhaps he had been to the shores before, laid eyes on the water that lay between here and beyond; the thought gave her a strange stab of loneliness. But she contented to express herself with another grunt.

One part of her mind noticed how he had included her in the 'we'. We of course meant the elves, sailing away from Middle Earth, leaving everything behind. But the bigger part of her mind was fixated on how her stomach clenched in a way that caused her to gag. Legolas hadn't seemed to notice because he kept talking with no hint of stopping. She wondered when he had become so conversational.

"I wonder why Lord Elrond never required it of you."

"Legolas, I don't care." Lyra blurted out. "Unless you want to witness me throw up, please stop talking." She thought she heard a chuckle behind her but it could have just been the river. Every once in awhile, she caught snatches of conversation between the other boats, pointing out some ancient structure. The one time she did look up from curiosity, the huge sculpted statues almost made her forget her queasiness. Almost.

* * *

The sun had just begun to set when they finally docked. Lyra hadn't even been aware when it reached its high peak in the sky. She eagerly climbed out of the boat and crawled onto the shore, feeling the stability of the ground beneath her. The hobbits giggled at her antics as she lay on the sand and spread her arms, smiling as widely as possible. Then a horrible, terrible thought hit her. She looked up at Legolas who had pulled the boat further up on the rocks, away from the pull of the water.

"We have to do this all over tomorrow don't we?" she asked, afraid of the answer she already knew.

He gave her a rueful smile. "I'm afraid so."

"No." She groaned as Pippin settled himself on the ground beside her, taking no care of his now sandy knees.

"Why don't you try to come with us tomorrow?" he suggested.

"You heard what Aragorn said." Legolas interrupted the little hobbit. "I am the best with water."

"Well obviously not. Look at poor Lyra." He fixed the much taller elf with a steely gaze. If she had been in a better mood, Lyra would have found it highly entertaining the way little Pippin so easily challenged one of the most dangerous beings he would ever meet.

"Lyra is just delicate." Legolas reasoned. She had to crack an eye at that. He sounded like her father, she thought with a huff. It bothered her for some reason. Much more than it probably should have.

"I'm not delicate." She snapped back. Unfortunately her voice cracked, taking out most of its bite.

Legolas grinned at that and offered his hand. She eyed it for a moment before Lady Galadriel's advice echoed in her head for some reason. With only a moment's hesitation, she took it and allowed the prince to help her to her feet.

"Let's find something for dinner." Aragorn appeared beside them, having just drug his own boat away from the water's reach.

"What's the use? I'll just be emptying it tomorrow." She sighed.

"You haven't eaten anything today." Legolas interrupted her moment of self-pity.

"Is that a question?" she asked, trying and failing to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

"You should eat." He snapped back without a moment's hesitation.

"I should never set foot on a boat again but that's not likely to happen."

"Lyra. Don't be difficult."

"I didn't ask you to watch over me. What do you care what I eat?"

"Because if we get attacked, I need to know you have the strength to fight." He answered.

She closed her eyes against the glare of the sun. "I'm feeling quite energetic now."

"Energetic enough to fix supper?" Aragorn's tall frame cast her in a shadow.

"I guess I could try…"

"All right. Who's the best tracker?" Boromir removed his gloves and beat them on his leg, removing the pebbles that had become embedded inside.

"I am." Lyra and Legolas said simultaneously. The elf raised his eyebrow down at her, the skepticism clear.

"And the best with a bow-" Boromir trailed off.

Lyra couldn't argue with that one and shrugged. "Be my guest. I'll stay here and relax."

"After you fix the stew." Legolas couldn't help but add.

"Right." She glanced around, wondering what kind of things dwarves and hobbit put in stews. Roots? Maybe berries? No that was too sweet. Perhaps leaves?

"I'm sure whatever you whip up will be fine lass." Gimli put a hand to his grumbling belly.

"I've never tried to cook on the road before. We normally just have lembas." She was already scanning the tree line for anything useful. She was pretty sure she knew what plants were poisonous. It would be embarrassing if their fellowship were to die- not from orcs or trolls- but dinner.

"We should really save as much of it as we can until game gets harder to find." Aragorn pointed out.

"Are you going to find me something then?" She dusted her pants off, and rustled around one large pack, looking for the metal pot that Sam kept.

"What would the lady request?" Legolas asked, a shred of annoyance still in his voice.

"Whatever the brave hunters can catch." She gave him such a sickly sweet smile that he blanched.

"Hobbits, can you get some firewood?" Lyra asked. Merry and Pippin were busy throwing rocks into the river while Sam sat near Frodo who stared into the woods like he could see something she couldn't. It might have made her nervous but she knew Legolas could see and hear further than anyone.

The four nodded and set off into the tress. "Not too green. And don't wander too far." She called after them. She clapped her hands together and scanned the camp, searching for level ground to make the fire.

"Are you just going to stand there all day?" she asked the elf still lounging above with his bow in his hand. Aragorn had already disappeared into the trees, beginning his search for tracks.

"I just want to make sure you know what you're doing." He replied easily.

"All I have to do is make a fire." She grabbed a few large stones, smashing a finger. She hissed and brought it to her lips. "And create something edible." She said with a bit more uncertainty. When she saw the same look reflected in Legolas' eyes, she growled. "I can do at least that. Shouldn't you have more faith in me?"

"Ask Sam if you need help." Was the only reply he made before shaking his head and disappearing into the woods.

* * *

An hour later, Lyra's eyes watered as thick black smoke billowed in her face. Cursing under her breath, she reached for the pot. Forgetting its heat, she stuck her burnt hand into her mouth and studied the red angry skin. Quickly she seized a stick and pushed the boiling pot away from the fire. She gazed inside and worried her lip. Half the stew had turned completely black. Although most of the smoke had cleared, the scent still lingered.

Sam seemed to be fighting some internal battle. He would open his mouth and then close it a second later. His eyes followed her as she tried to save dinner. Hastily, she poured more water in, resulting in creating a mixture of burnt and slimy. How was that even possible? She groaned as she poked it with a spoon.

Just then, her pointed ears caught the sound of two pairs of feet approaching. Well actually just one. But there was no use trying to hear for Legolas. She didn't think her senses would ever get that good. Panicked, Lyra threw the lid back onto the pot just as Aragorn and Legolas appeared from the forest, a deer slung over one shoulder.

"Everything alright?" Aragorn asked, noticing the slightly flushed look on her face. She pushed sweaty hair from her forehead and slapped a smile on her face. The hobbits, who had been content to watch her struggle were suddenly busy inventing a new game.

"Everything's great." She stretched and felt her joints pop. "I see hunting went well." She motioned to the carcass.

He nodded. "Legolas has good eyes." Lyra's eyes traveled to the elf, who paused to sniff the air.

"Something wrong?" She asked, glancing around carefully. The sun had set, throwing the water into inky blackness. The fire and the moon above were the only light in sight.

"I smell a foul scent on the air." He said, an expression in his eyes she hadn't seen before.

"Orcs?" Gimli asked, finally haven woken. He had fallen into a snoring stupor the moment man and elf had left.

She couldn't smell anything over the scent of burnt food. But perhaps Legolas did…

"Worse." Legolas said gravely. "However, I doubt it requires our immediate attention." He glanced at Lyra, then the pot and smirked.

Understanding his implication, she scowled at him as Aragorn skinned the deer, his knife working in smooth steady slices. Once it was in manageable cuts, he laid it over the fire in Sam's frying pan. The meat sizzled and spat and Lyra felt her stomach growl.

After several moments of listening to the fire's cracking, Gimli proceeded to pass out plates. Aragorn opened the pot of stew and froze over it. He glanced over at Lyra and away quickly as her eyes were studying his every expression. He spooned a small amount only for himself and Legolas but filled her and Gimli's plate with the several helpings of the black blob. The hobbits received theirs with a blank look that looked far too forced. Boromir also took just a spoonful, and filled his plate with strips of cooked meat.

She glanced down at her plate and moved it around with her fork. Was stew supposed to be crunchy? She looked over at Legolas whose plate was already empty. Her eyes narrowed. Was that the thing on the ground beside him? Before she could see, he had covered it in dirt. Aragorn swallowed down a spoonful and seemed to shudder a little. Maybe it wasn't that bad, she thought to herself and brought a little to her mouth. Instantly her eyes watered and she coughed before forcing herself to swallow with a shudder.

"You're really not going to say anything?" She asked in disbelief, caught between shock and amazement. Gimli cast her a puzzled glance.

"About what? He asked, shoving another spoonful of blackened stew into his already full mouth.

"This is horrible." She held up a spoonful as evidence. It landed with a plop.

"Thank goodness." Aragorn muttered, scooping it off his plate and into the fire. He gave her a small smile of apology but she only laughed.

Gimli however, could see nothing wrong with the food. "We dwarves like everything either burnt or raw. Or anything between really." He added.

Legolas looked t the dwarf with disbelief and no small amount of horror. "You know this is actually your fault." Lyra reminded him.

"You're the one who ruined the food and I get blamed?" He asked, stretching his long legs out and raising an eyebrow.

"I should have hunted and you could have made some great delicacy from the roots and wonders of the forest."

"Is that sarcasm I detect?" His eyes flashed up to hers.

"Never." She gasped, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense.

Instead of being annoyed like she had hoped, he grinned- just enough to stump her for a second. "If you had hunted, we would have no meat."

"I can hunt." She protested.

"Like you can cook?" He quipped. Lyra wondered where the wisdom he was supposed to have acquired over thousands of years hid.

Having no retort, she merely crossed her arm over her chest and growled, "Why am I the one making dinner anyway? The hobbits are the best cooks. I suppose it's because I'm a girl then."

"Don't worry. We won't make that mistake again." Boromir muttered under his breath. If not for her elvish hearing, she wouldn't have caught it. Lyra whirled on him, mouth agape, caught between the desire to laugh and the desire to pound him into the ground. In the end, the bashful look on his face caused her to giggle.

"I wish we would have brought another girl. Then I would have someone sensible to talk to." She sighed dramatically.

"Sam probably wishes we would have brought Rosie." Pippin whispered, eyes full to the brim of mischief.

"Rosie?" Lyra asked. When Sam blushed crimson, she couldn't help but chuckle. "Is that your sweetheart?"

"She's just a girl. Works at the tavern." He protested, albeit weakly.

"Sam's gonna marry her when he gets back." Merry added, nudging Frodo with one hairy foot. Frodo looked happier than he had been since leaving Lothlorien, especially as Sam sputtered.

"What about you Lyra?" Frodo asked, taking pity on Sam.

"What about me?" she asked, playing with the ends of her hair.

"Is there anyone special for you?" Sam asked, cheeks still tinged red.

"Special?" She felt like an echo.

"A special boy elf you like who likes you too." Pippin clarified. "Romantically." He added, just in case she was still confused.

She twisted the ring around her finger. "No."

"Really?" Pippin and Merry snorted at the same time.

"Is that so shocking?" She turned to look at his wide eyes staring up at her.

"I'm not sure." Pippin considered her seriously. "You're plenty pretty but I think you might scare the boys."

"What?" She asked, completely shocked. No one had ever even referred to her as intimidating before. She was shorter than most elves and hated when attention was focused on her. Most of all, she was hundreds, if not thousand of years younger than everyone she knew. In their eyes, she was still a child.

"You know- not to us of course but you can probably kill most people out there."

"Pippin, that's most elves, not just me." His eyes widened as if he had never considered that before.

"Your father never tried to marry you off?" Boromir asked. "In Gondor, royal women are wed for political matches."

"Not me. I don't think he would react well." She grinned at the thought. Not only that, but what would her brothers do? She grimaced at the flash of violent images. "But with Arwen, there was discussion of a joining between Rivendell and Mirkwood. It was thought Prince Legolas and my sister would make a match. Or so I'm told. That was long before I was born."

"Why hasn't it happened?" Merry asked, turning his attention to Legolas who looked slightly uncomfortable much to her delight.

"Arwen would never have him. He is far too-delicate." Lyra randomly selected, choosing a word that was less in severity than others swimming about in her head. "Besides, she fell hopelessly in love." She grinned at Aragorn across the flames of the fire. Instead of the joy she thought her words would bring him, his face grew dark.

"He still has one other daughter." Pippin said, with a sly look in his eyes. Lyra felt herself go red and ducked her head.

"Not by blood." She reminded him.

"I don't think that would matter." Aragorn added, for some reason feeling the need to join the conversation.

"Perhaps not to Lord Elrond but to others it would." Legolas said, the light from the fire cast shadows, making his eyes look darker.

"Your self included I suspect." She asked, more curious than offended. After all, the matter of such a match was politically vital to the future of a kingdom.

"My father." He answered. "Probably. I've never asked him about it." His forehead deepened, as he appeared to think.

"At this moment, marriage is the last thing on my mind. Who knows what could happen?" She imagined the miles and orcs that stood between them and Mount Doom. If she was lucky, she would live through it but even imagining a life beyond that point proved impossible to her.

"You're right." He nodded and shook his head. "Right now, there are more important things to worry about."

"You're agreeing with me." She blurted out, surprised.

"Miracles do happen." He teased back and she couldn't help the smile that lifted her lips in reply.

Soon after that, the hobbits began to arrange their bedrolls. Boromir collected the plates and proceeded to the river to wash them off. Fighting a yawn, Lyra stretched her own out and, kicking one leg from under the blanket. How was it possible to feel so exhausted after only sitting in a boat all day? She closed her eyes and was the first asleep.

* * *

Lyra was jerked from slumber violently. At first, she had thought a hand had forcefully pulled her away- the one who spoke in her dreams. But there was no one in the clearing- just sleeping hobbits and a snoring dwarf. Her breaths came in short gasps as the memory of her dreams settled around her shoulder. She stumbled to her feet only to find a concerned looking elf blocking her path. Legolas looked down at her, mouth moving with words she couldn't hear.

She brushed him away roughly and staggered to the edge of the forest. Once she had entered its dark canopy, she let her stomach heave. The force of the lingering memories pushed her to her knees where she knelt, shivering, her hands twitching in the dirt. After she emptied her stomach of dinner, she continued to heave until her remaining strength seeped away. Shaking so violently, she didn't hear the soft footsteps approach her until cool fingers brushed her cheek, pulling her hair back.

If she had any strength left whatsoever, she would have definitely pushed his hand away. But she just knelt there and closed her eyes at the way his hands soothed away some of the panic in her mind. She wondered if it was some sort of elvish medicine they practiced in Mirkwood. He seemed almost hesitant when he first touched her, like she might push him away at any moment. But when she remained frozen, his movements became bolder as he helped her to her feet. His calloused fingers felt good against the smooth skin of her arm, steadying even.

She was barely aware of anything that happened after. Only the feel of warm hands leading her beside the fire and wrapping a blanket over her. She fought to stay awake, afraid the darkness would claim her again. Someone whispered words she didn't recognize close to her ears and she fell limp back to dreams. This time, the darkness was blissfully free of nightmares.

* * *

Not too much happens in this chapter. A little light before the real action and angst begins! I wanted to take a minute to thank everyone who's left me a review or followed.


	14. Strange Encounters

"There are maps through your bones and skin, to the way you've felt and the way you've been."- Christopher Poindexter

* * *

Much to her surprise, Lyra's second day on the water lacked the nausea that had filled her with dread. If she had remembered the night before, she might have questioned Legolas or at least clumsily attempted to thank him. But her memory of it was murky at best. She only remembered fear and panic and then something that chased it away.

Sighing and rolling her shoulder, she tried to find a comfortable position in the boat. The morning was beautiful and she couldn't help but smile while breathing in the fresh air and stretching her hand out to catch the spray from the river. It tickled her skin and cooled her from the harsh sun high above. Even though she was feeling optimistic, it seemed Legolas was not. If she didn't know any better, she might have accused him of ignoring her. The only problem with that was his attention had remained on her for the better part of the past hour. Or more specifically, on her hand.

His eyes remained fixed to the ring wrapped around her finger. She gave it a teasing wriggle and snickered when he blinked from his stupor.

"Do you like it that much?" she goaded. "I would think that the prince of Mirkwood would have his choice of priceless jewels."

When he merely scowled, she couldn't help but press further. She wasn't sure what it was about the elf but the need to provoke a reaction from him was addicting. "It's pretty isn't it? Old too- just like you." She teased.

"Like Haldir as well." His eyes scanned the trees on both sides of them; a constant habit she noted.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure how old he is." She muttered, half to herself.

"Haldir is 6,000." He replied without a moment's hesitation, like it had been caught in his throat.

"Wow." Was all Lyra said. Apparently that didn't sit well with him. If anything he looked even more annoyed than before.

"Doesn't that bother you?" He asked.

"What?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"His age." If she didn't know him any better, Lyra would have swore he was resisting rolling his eyes.

"Why should it?" Instead of answering her, he simply clenched his hand and looked away, proceeding to ignore her.

"Honestly, I'm not really sure why he gave it to me, especially a family heirloom. Maybe he's prone to fits of spontaneity."

"I doubt the March Warden does anything on a whim." Legolas muttered darkly.

"Relax. I'm sure Haldir like you too, even if he didn't give you a pretty ring to prove it." She liked the way his lip twitched at that.

"You have quite the imagination if you think I would ever care what someone so far beneath me thinks." He replied loftily, bringing it all crashing down.

"Then why are you looking at the ring like you want to chop my finger off and steal it?" Lyra asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Its reflection keeps flashing in my eye." When she laughed, he cut a glare at her. "It's annoying."

Sighing, she curved her body so that her hand was turned away from him. "Better?"

He merely nodded and went back to paddling. Lyra knew she probably should have offered to take a turn but she also knew without asking that he would certainly reject any help. His sense of pride was almost as steely as hers. Luckily, Aragorn motioned for them to head for shore soon after. Just like the previous day, the company each went about their chores automatically. Gathering firewood, unloading the blankets, scouring the area.

"Guess I should get dinner started." Sam announced.

"I'll help." She offered, pulling a pack out from the boat and tossing it to the hobbit.

"Try to refrain. We don't need a repeat of yesterday." Legolas said, before disappearing with his bow slung over one shoulder. She threw a glare in his general direction.

"I wonder what's wrong with him today." She muttered to herself.

"Did you ever think it could be jealousy?" Lyra jumped at the voice behind her before scoffing at the ridiculous suggestion that ranger had just made.

"Jealous of what?" she asked Aragorn, bending down to collect dry twigs and leaves. At least she could help make the fire, if anything.

"Well like you mentioned yesterday, there were thoughts of uniting the elven kingdoms. Arwen- is no longer an option." He chose his words carefully.

"I'm pretty sure he wasn't as mad with you as he is with me and you're the one who stole her away!" She puffed, wondering why males were so complicated.

"Because I am his friend and because he never saw Arwen that way." Aragorn explained.

"And you're saying he sees me like that?" The possibility was mocking- to her and to the elven prince.

"No. I'm just saying that Legolas isn't one to like when things are taken away from him." Aragorn laid his sword on the ground and took out a sharpening stone.

"I was never his and I'm not a thing." She replied, feeling uncomfortable at the implication.

"But you could have been his. It was always a possibility. And now you're telling him no suddenly." He ran the edge over the steel, filling the air with a harsh sound.

"He doesn't even like me." She protested, plopping herself down beside him.

"It doesn't matter if he hates you. The thing is you're the one to refuse without a thought really. Legolas- well- isn't used to that." He offered her a small amused smile.

"Well he better get used to it quickly because I don't know how long I can put up with these little temper tantrums. Honestly, he complains about me being emotionally and physically and mentally unprepared but he's the one who is acting like the child. Not that I'm a child." She hastened to add, testing her own daggers. They were still razor sharp as she ran her finger lightly over the point.

"Well you both haven't been at your best." He studied her, confusion marring his brow, no doubt wondering why two elves he knew so well were acting quite unlike themselves.

* * *

Lyra couldn't sleep. And what bothered her more than not sleeping was the reason she wasn't sleeping. The ground was hard, yes but she had remained outside under the stars countless nights before. Her belly was full of food- good food this time, thanks to Sam. And she was safe. Well, as safe as she could be. But none of that mattered. She rolled onto her back and peered up at the moon.

Today's argument was such trivial thing. It wasn't even an argument, she told herself. He had just been…a little annoyed at her. It wasn't the first time and she doubted very highly it would be the last.

The longer Lyra thought about it, the more annoyed she became. She and Legolas had no claims on each other. It was silly to even think about it. If there had ever been a serious possibility of it, certainly her father would have mentioned it. Or the twins who would hackle her mercilessly. And Legolas had even said his father would not approve of her. So why did she still feeling pinpricks of guilt? She knew so little of the delicate politics that went into something like this. Had she done something offensive? Unwilling to let it hang over their heads for any longer, she crawled out from the warmth of her blankets and set off to find Legolas. It wasn't that hard. He stood outside of the fire's light, his back to the camp. She didn't need to see his face to know his eyes were ever watchful and alert. He barely moved a muscle. Perhaps a little jealous, she wondered how he managed. Lyra had to constantly be in motion and when she couldn't, she would fidget. Shake her leg, tap her fingers against the table, pop her shoulder.

She cleared her voice and spoke. "Legolas?" Although her voice had been soft but she knew he heard her. She approached him slowly, wondering what she should say. If Aragorn was wrong and it wasn't some case of strange jealousy, it could create a very awkward situation.

"You should be sleeping." He glanced over and in the darkness of the night, his eyes appeared to glow even paler. Looking up at him, she sighed and decided to get it over with.

"Listen, I had no idea that's what the ring meant." She wondered why she had the sudden urge to defend herself. "I don't think Haldir meant it like that; it was just a goodwill gift."

"It doesn't matter to me. It's not like you have to keep me informed on your personal life." He said, voice strangely controlled and almost bored. He wasn't being outright rude but she had the distinct impression he was displeased. That seemed deeply unfair to Lyra, since he was the one who brought the subject up in the first place and made a mess of it.

"Well you certainly act like it's your business." She seethed.

"I just don't want to see any emotions hinder your judgment on this trip." He looked down at her. She hated the fact that he was so much taller than her.

"I don't know what the females in Mirkwood are like but I don't fall at the feet of the first elf who expresses interest in me and pine for him day and night."

"So you admit he expressed interest?" Legolas demanded. Lyra's frustration with his constant doubt of her character had reached a breaking point and all she wanted to do was slap that expression off his face.

So that's what she tried to do, knowing very well he would stop it before she could make contact. He caught her first in his hand, surprise etched onto his face.

"You tried to punch me." The words fell from his mouth in a jumble.

"You deserved it." She said, tugging her hand from his grasp. He refused to relent it and instead yanked her closer.

"I don't think a female has ever tried to hit me before." There was a trace of anger there now, building behind his eyes.

"Somehow I doubt that." She gave a halfhearted kick at his legs so he was forced to release her. They stood there in the darkness, studying each other, one with wariness and traces of anger, the other with a small amount of amusement and confusion.

When she was unable to stand the silence any longer, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, "I think you should apologize to me."

His mouth dropped open for a second before it closed with an audible snap. Lyra savored every second of his expression.

"You want me to apologize to you? You were the one who tried to hit me." His voice was incredulous.

"Well, you were the one who did something to deserve it. Again." She reminded him.

After a moment of consideration, he relented. "Fine. I apologize for jumping to a wrong conclusion, though it was probable at the time because you offered no other explanation."

She nodded and gracefully decided not to push him any further. She didn't think she'd get any better than that. "Alright. Just don't do it again. I might not be so gracious next time."

"What about you?" He demanded when she made to turn away back to camp.

"What about me?" She echoed.

"Wouldn't you like to apologize?" This time he really did roll his eyes. Her snort was the only answer she gave as she walked away feeling much lighter. Not even the weight of his eyes on her back took it away. She curled up and fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

* * *

"Aragorn. Aragorn!" She screamed, bolting upright and thrashing against the darkness. A hand tightened on her shoulder and jostled her gently.

"Lyra, he's fine." Legolas' eyes were all too knowing but that didn't bother her now. Not like it should have. She was too busy scrambling to her feet and searching the clearing. Her eyes fell upon the ranger, still sleeping, free of blood. His chest moved up and down with life. Much of the panic fell away only to be replaced by a chill fighting its way through her veins.

"Oh." She said, wavering on her feet. "Oh."

"You had another dream." His voice was dark and dangerous.

"He had fallen." The words tumbled out of her, still half caught up in the images of sleep. Her head hung low, tired. "Aragorn had fallen and I couldn't get to him. It was dark, like Gandalf."

"How long have you had these dreams?" She didn't pull away when she felt his warmth draw closer to her. She let her head fall onto his chest and in response, he put an arm around her shoulder. It was hesitant, but still he was trying. She was so cold, trembling without knowing it. His scent surrounded her, clearing her mind. Sandalwood and forest. It was safe, relaxing, familiar. But still the images flashed inside her mind, too ugly to be erased so easily. She tried to summon up anger- the anger she had felt only a few hours ago. Maybe it would be enough to push him and the dreams away. But she couldn't bring herself to do it; the only warmth she could feel was where his hands touched her. Everywhere else was frozen.

"I don't know." She finally answered his question, pushing her hair from her face, thoughts clouded. "A year maybe but never this much before. I want them to stop. I don't want them to mean anything. But what if they do?" She asked him, unconsciously reaching out to grab the front of his shirt. Holding onto him made her feel safer and grounded, like the nightmares would have to fight to take her again. Even though the night was warm, she shivered as the breeze cooled the sweat on her skin.

"Go back to sleep Lyra. You'll forget it when morning comes." She nodded her head weakly and allowed him to once again lead her back to the bedroll and wrap the blanket around her form that had only just stopped quivering.

She didn't know that he sat next to her the whole night- awake and staring into the fire with darkness in his eyes. She didn't hear the elvish words he spoke to her when her dreams grew restless. Or feel his fingers brush over her forehead when it wrinkled with despair.

But in the end, it was true. The next morning when the sun and sound of hobbits woke her, she didn't remember the night before- both his comforting touch and the nightmares that caused them.

But the dread stayed with her. She could feel it; the darkness was getting closer, looming over their heads. Like Legolas, she had taken to scanning the trees more often and jumping at sharp sounds. She knew the shadows were hiding some evil and it was only a matter of time before it emerged.

* * *

Hey guys! Hope you guys like the chapter. Leave me a comment and let me know what you think of Lyra and Legolas' changing relationship. They'll be some action in the next chapter!


	15. Into the Fire

**I have this theory that inside each of us is a dead man trying to dig his own grave.**

* * *

Pippin's breathing grew deep and tranquil- and then louder. Lyra froze in surprise as his head dropped onto her shoulder and his snores filled her ear.

"Poor Lyra." Aragorn smiled, noticing her predicament. The ranger was unusually quiet and his eyes seemed to scan the dusky river every few seconds. "You have such sensitive ears too." She just grinned and tried to keep her cringing to a minimum at the loud inhales and even louder exhales.

She stretched her feet closer to the fire and tried to crack her neck without waking her small friend. Ah, the warmth felt so good. Pippin obviously thought so too because he muttered something in his sleep and rolled to the side, stretching out his arms and legs carelessly until one hairy foot draped over her leg and one hand grasped Sam's hair, emitting an angry squeak. Pippin failed to wake and soon the snoring began again- even louder this time.

"I'd say he rivals you Gimli." Aragorn noted, peering out into the night again. She didn't know why he bothered. Legolas was on guard, watchful and silent somewhere out in the darkness. Like always, he volunteered for first watch after they camped.

"Oh please. I'm a silent sleeper." The dwarf denied, the pipe in his mouth muddling his words.

"Whoever told you that?" Lyra demanded, staring at him in open disbelief.

"Never you mind that." He replied secretly, clearly satisfied with himself.

She just snorted and leaned forward, giving her tunic that was spread over a flat rock near the flames a poke with her finger, testing. Ah, almost dry.

Needless to say, it had been an eventful and embarrassing day. The rapids they encountered were far rougher than Aragorn initially thought and it was only when they were fighting its force that they found out just how violent the river could be. Of course Merry and Pippin seemed to regard it as a game and called to each other in delight from across the river as Aragorn, Legolas, and Boromir fought to keep the boats afloat. Merry had decided to join her and Legolas that morning. He claimed he was bored with Aragorn's history lessons. Every time they crossed a statue of old, the ranger liked to point out its origins. Personally, Lyra loved to listen to his voice but it seemed Pippin was not quite as fond of learning.

Fascinated by the water, he decided to take a closer look and peer over the edge. The boat had begun to tip with the balance wildly skewed.

In her haste to secure Merry, Lyra hadn't noted the sharp turn ahead. A moment later she had plunged into the river -head first and been promptly submerged in icy water that stole her breath away with its pounding waves. Hardly a few seconds passed before she had been hauled back into the boat by two strong and warm hands. She knew she resembled a drowned rat with her hair plastered to her face and her teeth chattering.

"You don't need a bath that much." Legolas had grinned impishly at her, no doubt much amused at her foolish state.

"Very funny." She growled, trying to ring as much water from her long hair as she could which only ended up creating a puddle at her feet.

She had learned to swim even since her brothers chose to toss her into a river, laughing boisterously. Of course that only lasted until she failed to immediately surface and then with panicked flails, they had jumped in after her. At the time, their faces paled even more than hers- and she was the one who almost drown!

Aragorn had offered to stop after Legolas fished her from the river but she had refused. It was only water after all. A little discomfort wouldn't kill her but tarrying too long could. As the current swept them on for many miles more, Lyra wondered what her problem with rivers seemed to be. Perhaps it was just bad luck that she always seemed to be falling in them or swept away by them.

She never minded the cold but she couldn't deny that after a day stuck in soppy clothing, the heat of their campfire was satisfying. With another filling if simple dinner in her stomach and her friends at her side, she felt rather lazy and drowsy. It took Gimli poking her side to realize the dwarf was speaking to her.

"After this war is over, come to Erebor lass. I'll show you the actual wonders this world has to offer. Now that's a real city. They have meat there too and ale that flows like rivers. None of the green grass of elves to fill one's belly." He frowned in distaste at the memory of his meal in elven kingdoms.

"That sounds nice." She brought her hands behind her neck to gaze up at the stars. "Maybe I will."

"I would think you would want to see more of your kin's homeland." Legolas spoke softly from the shadows behind them, causing both her and Gimli to startle. Of course after jumping, they proceeded to pretend that they hadn't. "You've lived in Rivendell and you've seen Lothlorien. Mirkwood would be next."

"Now just a moment." Gimli interrupted. "We already have plans. She is coming to Erebor first."

Legolas seemed to be barely resisting rolling his eyes. "I was merely-"

"Trying to steal her away." Gimli finished for him, fixing the elf with a steely glare.

"Does anyone care to know if I also wish to come?" Aragorn asked, sounding amused. Three heads swiveled towards the ranger, seemingly having forgotten he was there.

"You won't have time to travel." Lyra argued.

"Why is that?" His eyebrow rose in question.

"You'll be too busy ruling a kingdom." She replied simply. Aragorn had no answer as the others waited for his reply. "And when you are king, I plan to fully take advantage of it. I'd like food and a room and a hot bath when I come back from traveling and my many adventures."

"So difficult to please." He teased. "No jewels for the lady?"

She made a face. "You know that's not my taste."

After a moment of silence, he added, "No matter where I am, you are welcome Lyra but be careful. That may end up being nothing more than a poor shed with a leaky roof."

"It will be Gondor." She contended. "I have no doubts." She didn't see the look Legolas and Aragorn shared or the fact that the ranger stayed up late into the night, staring off into space and smoking his pipe, often touching the jewel that hung around his neck.

* * *

Lyra woke with a jolt. She glanced around, wondering why she had been pulled from sleep so suddenly. For the first time in a week, there had been no nightmares that plagued her. Soft snores filled the camp and the soft light from the moon ahead told her that morning was still far away. Tossing her blanket away, she scrambled to her feet and threw a few pieces of wood into the dying fire. Her sharp eyes scanned the clearing for her companions.

Merry kicked out in his sleep and Pippin huffed at the contact though neither actually woke. Sam slept just a little further off- the worry that had marred his soft face for the past week disappeared in deep slumber.

Boromir had guard duty and posted himself on a boulder near the river, facing away from the camp. As per usual, Gimli snored like a dragon, causing her to frown. With racket like that, it was a wonder they would be able to assure any secrecy at night. Aragorn had chosen to sleep leaning against a tree, his pipe still lay in his open hand. Legolas' eyes were open like all elves but glazed over in sleep, staring straight ahead into nothing. Even then, his hand rested on the handle of his dagger. She knew one sound from her and he would be on his feet. She pushed away the urge to tease him. Clearly, even elven princes needed sleep.

But there was one hobbit missing. Fighting off panic, Lyra swept her eyes towards the woods and breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of him a few feet into the trees.

"Frodo?" She whispered, afraid she might scare him with her silent approach. Still, the hobbit didn't move or turn to face her though he did seem to grow taunt in her presence. "What are you doing?" she asked.

He shrugged, saying nothing. Small noises from the forest reached their ears, making Lyra strangely unwilling to go further. Still, she took several steps until she reached him and stood to the side, a little nervously. She and Frodo had been friendly but they didn't have a familiarity that she felt with Merry and Pippin. As he seemed to shrink away from everyone, she felt that distance grow even more.

"We have plenty of firewood to last the night." She told him, spying the small pile of branches lying haphazardly at his feet.

"Alright." He muttered weakly.

She took a moment to study him, noting the thinning of his face and the dark circles under his eyes. "Frodo, you need to get some sleep. I know this is hard but-"

"What do you know about it?" he snapped, taking the ring into his hand, effectively shielding it from her eyes.

A flicker of sudden anger pooled in her stomach. Wasn't she the one who had been suffering from nightmares for a year? What had he done? Been living in a dirty hole his whole life. He wasn't worthy of the ring; he desired it too much. She could see the greed shining out of his eyes. The ring needed someone worthy- someone like her. Its voice beckoned her forward. _Take me. Take me._ _Just reach out_. Her fingers twitched as she took a step forward. And then another. Frodo gasped and stumbled backwards, looking up with such fear that she swirled around, afraid there was a monster right behind her.

But he was looking at her with those eyes. She put a hand to her forehead and realized that the panting that filled the clearing was her own labored breathing. She glared at the golden ring that seemed to pulse hidden in a tightly clamped hand.

"Frodo- I'm sorry. That stupid ring." She hissed and forced herself to take several steps away from the hobbit. She faced the clearing and took deep breaths; with it, she felt the pressure of the ring fade until it had disappeared completely from her mind. Still, she jumped in surprise when a hand patted her arm. She looked down to see two impossible big blue eyes staring up at her- with something she could only define as complete understanding.

"It's not your fault. The others have felt it too." His eyes were hooded in the night.

"I hate it." She sighed, giving a rock at her feet a halfhearted kick.

"I'm pretty sure that's why we are on this trip." He said, the beginning of a smirk gracing his lips even if it didn't reach to his eyes.

She couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her lips. "Of course. How could I of forgotten?"

They stood in contemplative silence for several moments before the hobbit whispered, "It's getting heavier; it doesn't let me sleep anymore."

"I'm sorry Frodo." She glanced down at him, a feeling of deep respect swelling within her at his strength. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

"No. I have to do this alone. No one can help me." He replied bleakly and she could see the urge to retreat within himself intensify again. She felt a pang of pity for him. Didn't she know what it felt to carry a secret weight that no one really understood?

"No one understands Frodo but that doesn't mean we can't help. Before we left Lothlorien, the Lady gave me some advice. She told me not to scorn others' strength- to let them help me. Sometimes I have a problem with that." She flashed him a wry smile. "I think we have that in common."

"I'll try to keep it in mind." He promised before setting off towards camp. She listened to the sound of him lying down and wrapping the blanket tight around him. Eventually, his breathing deepened, giving him a little respite and some much needed rest. Lyra stood there for several moments longer, content to let the wind pull at the braids in her hair. She felt dirty after hearing the evil voice and the woods helped clean her of them. She forced herself to close her eyes in the darkness even though it filled her with paralyzing fear. The wind carried a promise of something- something tainted and vile- like a mocking warning. It made her arms prickle uncomfortably and didn't disappear even when she rubbed her hands over them.

* * *

"You'd think there'd be plenty of spare wood in a forest." Lyra grumbled to herself, seizing a miniscule twig with a glower. Unable to return to sleep last night, she had instead spent the remaining hours attempting to calm her troubled spirit. Though she was tired in body, she felt much more rested emotionally. As soon as light touched the horizon and the others began to rouse, she had moved away from camp in a search for firewood. Surprisingly, there were precious few sticks of wood so close to camp so she had wandered further and further away. The trees were so beautiful- the way the colors was beginning to change from bright green to orange and yellow. A cool wind tickled her neck. Soon, she would need warmer clothes but for now, the fall weather was what she loved the most. The lazy sunlight warmed her enough and beckoned her towards sleep.

Arms full of mostly twigs and a few scant pieces of sizable firewood, Lyra had just moved to return to camp when a horn broke through the peace of the morning, causing her to freeze in reflex. She waited with bated breath; perhaps it was only her imagination. But another bellow shattered that fanciful notion. She trotted up the hill only to be tackled by something small and rattled. They landed with an oomph and tumbled a few feet. She didn't have the chance to draw her weapon before recognizing the body sprawled next to hers.

"Frodo." She laughed. "Oh thank goodness. What's going on?"

"Boromir tried to take the ring. Uruks are here. I have to leave." He said in a single breath, while giving the hand still holding his an impatient tug.

"They're here." She gasped, her shred of fear quickly being replaced by anger. "We have to help them." She pushed away the nausea that pooled in her stomach. "It's coming from that way. Let's go." She only took two steps before skidding to a hasty halt.

"No, I should get you somewhere safe." She cursed under her breath, clearly torn. While she detested the idea of leaving her companions to defend themselves, Frodo was too close to those evil creatures. Horror filled her as she imagined what would happen if they found him.

"Lyra. Go." He encouraged, something in his eyes she couldn't recognize and didn't have time to study fully.

"Alright. Hide by the river. When it's safe, we'll come and find you." She said, hoping her promise would prove true.

"No Lyra." He shook his head sadly, eyes wide and frightened but determined.

"What?" She asked, sure she must have misheard. Her heartbeat was clamoring in her ears and every part of her body shook with nervous apprehension.

"This is goodbye Lyra." He whispered, wariness now creeping into his expression at her shock.

"No. No. No. You cant' go alone. It's too dangerous." She winced at the sound of battle in the distance but tried to focus her entire attention on the hobbit before her.

"It's dangerous either way. Lyra, it has to be like this." He tried to persuade.

"But-" She began, uncertain what was the right answer.

"Go. Be safe." He gave her hand a final squeeze before she allowed his to drop from hers.

Lyra remained for what felt like eternity, debating her choices. She could drag Frodo somewhere safe and wait out the battle. They could move on towards Mordor together but she knew the hobbit would never let that stand. And she had to sleep eventually. He would just slip away in the night.

She swallowed thickly and seized Frodo in a hug he clearly wasn't expecting. "I'll see you again."

He nodded, face white as a ghost before turning and jogging away, his elvish cloak billowing behind him.

"Good luck my friend." She whispered as he disappeared around the bend before turning around and fixing a steely expression on her face. "Alright, let's do this." She muttered to herself before taking a deep breath and running towards the sound of screams and clashing swords as fast as she could.

* * *

Alright, not too long of a chapter. I wanted them to have a little peace before the real battles start! Reviews are always appreciated and loved!


	16. Dissolve

In the end, we were like ghosts hanging on to the roof of the earth halfway between worlds, too afraid to let go. –Beau Taplin

* * *

Lyra didn't have to run far before chaos completely encompassed her. It all happened in the quickest blink of an eye. She turned a corner and found herself thrown into three figures and then there was no time to think. She could only react. She ducked as Boromir's huge sword swung at her face.

His already pale face was drained of any remaining blood when he recognized her and realized what could have been a fatal mistake.

"Sorry." His chest heaved as he spoke and he wiped sweat from his face.

"Lyra!" Pippin and Merry crowded around, taking her hands and tugging her away- further down the steep hill.

She followed with little resistance once she saw the horde that appeared over the very peak of the hill behind them.

Boromir threw her a weak smile. "It's good to see something that's not an orc."

She could only manage a strangled laugh at that- glancing wildly behind her all the while pushing the hobbits faster in front of her. There was no way the Uruk-Hai could be outrun. They needed to slow them down- at least the ones in the front of the pack.

She pulled the first arrow from her quiver and fired it before she could even register the movement. She didn't feel any flush of pride as the arrow hit its mark and one beast fell. There were too many flooding towards them for her to feel any sense of relief. Only fear. They were overwhelmed, desperately so.

Boromir, Merry, Pippin, and her against a hundred Uruk-hai. And each second, more streamed down from the hills, turning the green forest dark. She fired another arrow. It hit an orc through his muscled arm and even though he raged from the pain, it only seemed to push him forward faster than before. She cursed and pulled another arrow out. This one hit an orc in the neck. He fell and the others stepped over him, on him, crushing his body. They were closer now with each passing second. The ground beneath her trembled with their weight, sending small waves of shock into her feet. She aimed at the one closest to them but her arrow sailed wide and imbedded itself into another. Merry and Pippin stayed close, just ahead of her as they all ran, then paused just long enough to fire another shot. They sprinted forward again while Lyra fitted another arrow to her bowstring, grasping the feather in her shaking fingers. She paused and drew it to her cheek before releasing. She had given up trying to control her breathing-ragged and harsh. If she aimed at the massive horde, it would hit something without much attempt on her part. But they couldn't keep up this pace forever. The Uruks were taller and faster and very quickly closing the distance. Run. Fit an arrow. Stop. Fire. Repeat.

Merry threw rocks. It hit some in the head, enough to knock them to the ground, stunned. She couldn't help the brief smile that flitted across her face. However bad they were with actual weapons, it seemed the hobbits still found ways to be useful. Although their eyes were wide in terror, the two kept their wits about them.

The smile was wiped off her face when they spun around a sharp corner and came across another group of orcs- bigger and meaner if that were possible, effectively boxing them in. Boromir lifted a horn to his lips, gave it one powerful blast before dropping it to his side and unsheathing his sword. Even with her elvish strength, Lyra had tested its weight once before. It was enormous, especially for a human to wield but Boromir hacked it through the air and into an orc faster than Lyra could bat an eye. Its blood wet his sword, staining it black.

Lyra fired two more arrows in quick succession before they were upon her and she was forced to drop the bow. She could smell them now- the distinct scent of orc and evil. It contaminated the air with its pungent odor. Nonetheless, she took in a deep lungful as she drew her sword. They were close enough that she could see the bulge of their arms, the long matted hair that dripped with sweat and filth. She knew from previous experience they were disgusting to look at, let alone be in close combat with. Still, she took a few swift steps forward and hit the first orc in a wave that seem as wide as the ocean. The impact jarred her enough that she almost dropped her sword as it stabbed into meaty flesh. Her hands were already wet with their blood and her fingers slipped trying to dislodge the metal. She did- just in time to block an orc who had aimed a club at her head. It slipped off her sword and grazed her arm with bruising force. She bit back a yell and took a step to the right before slicing his head off his shoulders. She killed three more in rapid succession, barely with enough room to breathe. They were all around, blocking her from escape, from sunlight. Boromir's horn sounded louder and more desperate- one last cry for help. The hobbits stuck close to Boromir but she knew it was only a matter of time before any Uruk-Hai managed to slip past the giant man's shaky defense. He couldn't protect them all at once. She wondered where Aragorn and Gimli were. And Legolas. She kept expecting to hear his arrows whiz past her ears. When had she begun to rely on them so much? Right now, she was desperate for them and had to restrain herself from yelling out their names.

She chopped at another orc, trying to close the distance that had opened up between her and the hobbits. Boromir was doing a good job at killing them himself but they were still so outnumbered. And now they were beginning to tire. Something that could mean a quick end in any battle. Even with her other companions-wherever they might be, it would be difficult to come out of this alive let alone unscathed. Her lungs had begun to burn and sweat stung her eyes, as well as cuts that had mysteriously seemed to appear on her arms.

It was impossible to know how much time had passed. It could have been minute or hours. She measured it only by bodies that were cut down and littered the ground around them. She reminded herself not to trip on the dozens on dead limbs that tried to tangle her feet. And now, she only wished there were more. The orcs had gotten smarter and began to circle them, drawing them together closer and closer until the four members of the fellowship were pressed side by side. She and Boromir held their glittering weapons before them-circling and the hobbits clasped rocks in their small hands.

Pippin grabbed at Lyra's side almost unknowingly. She pushed the hobbit behind her with little gentleness. They were waiting she realized, their bodies swaying with rage and barely bridled aggression. The growls were low and almost prompted one of her own. Then there was an arrow. For a moment, Lyra almost cried in relief. Legolas was here.

But the sound of the arrow was much too large, too broad to be elvish. She looked to her left and saw it- as wide as three fingers with rough black feathers and sticking out of Boromir's shoulder. The man sunk to his knees and the roaring in Lyra's ears threatened to overwhelm her. He looked up at her, sputtering, trying to say something she would never hear. And then while his eyes were fixed on hers- another arrow struck him. The anguish she saw in them crushed her. Without a thought, she gripped her sword tighter and attacked, throwing herself into the fray. Nothing seemed to be real. Boromir wasn't dying. The hobbits would be fine. She would stop them. The danger was present but her mind couldn't seem to wrap itself around the idea of loss. Instead, it pushed her forward, moving her faster than she ever had before. She was bleeding everywhere at once but the pain became incentive to hit harder, until her limbs shook and trembled. The bloodthirst had taken over. It was a wonder that she noticed the sound of another arrow. Boromir looked like a pincushion to her- red everywhere. Arrows littered his body, spilling his blood, crushing his bones.

More. More. She had to kill more. It would only stop when they were all dead carcasses. She felt the kindle of what she had hoped to have left in the mines. But now, it beckoned her, promising retribution, promising revenge. The idea was tantalizing, almost dizzying in its sweetness. The power- threatening to overwhelm her senses, her thoughts. She yelled- pain and terror and rage all mixing into something deadly. Seven orcs closest to her fell dead. Their blood stained the ground and splattered onto her hands and arms like they had combusted from within. She didn't stop to questions what had happened. If she did, she wouldn't last long.

Whatever she had done had taken the edge off her strength. She felt it waning faster than it should. Black dots danced across the edge of her vision. She shook them away but not fast enough. She hit the ground before she realized an orc had gotten close enough to kick her legs out from under her. She gasped for breath while trying to stand but there were too many of them with their hands on her, ripping her apart. She had dropped her sword so she punched and kicked and scratched. It did no good; they might of well have been immune to pain. One of her fingers snapped, broken as an orc jerked her to her feet. She saw his fist rush towards her and tried to duck, to fall but two others held her firmly in place. The impact drove the breath from her lungs. Her lip was split judging by the blood that was filling her mouth. She coughed on the hot liquid and tried to spit it out but it continued to stream down her face, out her nose. Her scalp was bleeding too; there was something warm in her eyes that she couldn't blink away.

She waited for the anger to return but the sharp blow had caused her mind to swim with confusion. The smell of blood was all around; her mind was swimming in it, threatening to upheave her stomach. Whatever was inside her had fallen from her fingers, out of reach and no amount of pleading could make it return. The sounds reverberated in her ears but none of it meant anything. Everything was mindless roars and screams, scrapples of a fight-weapon on weapon, dying cries. Then there was a familiar whizzing over her shoulder and the orcs holding her fell dead. She fell with them, trying to catch her breath and remember where she was, who she was. All thought was leaving her too quickly. Her mind became a spider's web and the tangles too tight to fight through, each strand slipping away.

Then, she heard Pippin cry out. That sound was enough to make her open her eyes, stand, and stumble to her feet. Five orcs surrounded the two cousins. They weren't trying to kill the hobbits, only restrain them. Merry was thrown over a shoulder with a cry of pain. Pippin was fighting but it did no good. He might of well have been hitting the orc with a feather pillow with all the impact it was having. Lyra found her sword on the ground, shaking her head to rid it of the incessant buzzing. She picked it up with her good hand before she cut down the one holding Pippin first, coming from behind. Then, she moved towards Merry. She stabbed at its middle. Her sword got caught on his jagged armor as she tried to pull it out. All three fell in a heap. Lyra had managed to push the orc out from above her when she heard a distinctive voice. Aragorn was shouting her name in a voice she heard never heard from him before. Gimli too she heard as he shouted dwarvish curses at the foul beasts. Wearily, Lyra looked towards the sound. There they were, sprinting down the hill at them. There were so many still alive. Lyra felt she had been fighting for days. Surely, they had killed all the orcs in Middle Earth.

Legolas was saying something to her, screaming across the crowd that separated them. But she couldn't hear, could barely see. Even finding the strength to remain standing was difficult. Her blood stained her clothes and skin, running down her in small rivulets. Her finger was bent at an unnatural angle but she couldn't feel its pain. There was just so much of it everywhere to distinguish one small injury from another. But she felt what came next. A sword biting through the shoulder, scratching the bone, ripping its way through her skin and muscle. She screamed and screamed until her voice gave out and she finally fell. The blunt metal slipped out of her and she found her voice again. The blood was warm and wet and leaving her too fast. One orc- bigger than the rest with a white hand plastered on the side of his face stalked towards them with death in his eyes. Surprisingly it wasn't her that he turned to. The orc that had stabbed her was beheaded with one mighty stroke of the sword. The commanding orc reached down to her, feeling her shoulder, pushing against the bleeding. She tried to shove his hands away but the darkness was rising in waves against her vision.

She felt herself being lifted and thrown over something hard that bit into her wound. A shoulder? She managed to pry her eyes open to see a trail of her blood running down the back of the Uruk-Hai carrying her- bright red mixing with the sweat and grime of battle. There were other voices, near her, far away, inside her head. Some called her name. She tried to remember what was wrong. Where she was. Who she was. Nothing seemed as important as closing her eyes. Two scared voice begged her to look at them. She pushed the noise away like she did the pain. Then there was a voice that demanded her attention, one she found she couldn't ignore. She saw blue eyes, familiar somehow. Blonde hair. He sliced down orcs with deadly accuracy but he would never reach her. She felt herself being pulled further and further away. No mater how may he killed, it would never matter. There was always more, rising up to take the place of the dead. Lyra closed her eyes and prepared to join them.

* * *

Sorry guys. I know it's been awhile but I actually do have a good excuse! I was living out of the country for a year and just moved back to the good ole USA. So, with training someone to replace me, moving out, 2 days of constant airports/flying, and catching up with family, it's been a bit chaotic. Leave a review, please?


	17. Thirst

Some days, I feel everything at once. Other days, I feel nothing at all. I don't know what's worse―drowning beneath the waves, or dying from the thirst.

* * *

The soft passage of the river filled the air with the soothing sound of water, completely betraying the violence that had filled the forest only moments before. It was unfair really- the beauty that surrounded them- that everything had been tarnished and dirtied. Blood and gore clung to the three left alive- their red blood and black orc blood, mixed in dirty trails that splattered on their skin. More blood stained the ground under the bodies of the dead. The air was rank with it.

Only seconds before they had lowered Boromir's still body into one of the boats, had wished him farewell, each in their own way. He floated with the tide, gentle at first then the small raft shook with the water's force before it disappeared over the waterfall, fallen beyond their sight. They each knew the man had many faults, faults that had threatened their very fellowship, the world itself. But it was difficult to think too harshly of a man who had given his life protecting two others. Whose only crime had been his own weakness.

Legolas stood near the water's edge, ruffling through spare packs in the remaining boat but straightened when he heard Aragorn's footsteps pause behind him. "There was so much blood on her. I barely recognized her." He gave voice to his worry, not that it helped him feel any better.

"I know Legolas. I know. But Lyra is tough; they will have a hard time breaking her." He knew the ranger was trying to convince himself just as much as his friend. There was visible anger but underneath it all was deep pain and worry. Regret and guilt. They mixed in a potent brew that left them all slightly short of breath, like they were still struggling to catch it after the chaos of the battle faded.

"Lyra is different Aragorn. She's-" he broke off and looked away, towards where the heavy tracks led- deeper into the trees. "Why would they want her alive?"

"I don't know. If only Gandalf were here." His voice was haggard and he wiped his hand over his face, his jaw covered with dark stubble.

"Lyra-a female." He grunted out, unable to push the dark thoughts that had leapt into his mind unbidden and highly unwelcome. Aragorn gripped Legolas' arm tight, whether from pain or anger he couldn't tell. Perhaps he was trying to ground himself; the man looked ready to fall over but there was a new light in his eyes. If Legolas didn't know any better, he would have called it vicious.

"The things they could do. We have to find her." Legolas whispered, afraid his words would shatter the fragility of the moment. Afraid that saying it too loud might make it all true. But it was true, he realized. Horribly and brutally true. As a warrior, he had been involved in hundreds of battles. But never before had one left his hands shaking, his head light and his chest struggling for breath. He was a prince of his people, a fighter of legend. But he didn't feel like one now. He felt sick and so very angry.

More than anything, he felt the failure to protect them, to protect her weigh down his shoulders. He had promised Lady Galadriel he would keep an eye on Lyra, watch over her even before they had become part of the fellowship. Of course, at the time he had imagined her to be a dangerous enemy. But then he had learned differently and a promise was a promise. He had gotten to know her. Seen through the walls that she kept built around her. He had caught glimpses of her vulnerability, the way her dreams would make her hands clench tight, the same way she would try and ignore it the morning after even though tossing and turning kept her up half the night.

She was so young. There had been times when it completely escaped his thoughts. His father had often spoken of old souls found in every race and every age. It was the way she carried herself, the way she watched the world around her with both wonder and a sort of wariness- like she expected it to turn its back and hurt her at any moment. For people like her, trust came hard because she knew how easily it was lost- how not much lasted.

But then at other times, her youth would hit him like a stab through the chest. It hurt when he witnessed snatches of it even though he knew it shouldn't. For all she had seen, Lyra was still so innocent and naive. Each day, some of the childlike qualities were lost, chipped away by the responsibility of their quest. No one could remain innocent in war but he didn't expect it to hurt him so much to see the girl lose hers.

How ironic, he thought that only after she was gone did he realize just how important she had been to the Fellowship. She talked and joked around Gimli with an ease he had never witnessed between an elf and a dwarf. Aragorn, he knew she respected and loved fiercely, strangely protective of the man twice her size. Even the hobbits had accepted her as one of their own. And they- well he wasn't sure what their relationship was. It seemed to change each day but underneath the bickering was a fondness that had grown from initial dislike and fear on his part. A strange feeling of protectiveness.

But it wasn't just the Lady's words or his promise to her that had his heart frozen with fear. It was something else, something that tugged sharply inside his chest, throughout his bones. An ache that was as foreign to him as the impact of this battle was on his mind. He only knew that he hated the feeling and it would stop when he got them back. And he would. There was no doubt about that.

"Let's get on with it. My axe has not yet had its fill of orc." Gimli said gruffly, trying and failing to hide his distress. The dwarf appeared weighed down by his heavy armor and weapons. If they dropped him into the river, Legolas suspected he would sink straight to the bottom. Like a boulder. If Lyra were here, she would snicker at the reference. And then of course she would shush and yell at him, maybe even hit him playfully. Strange to think that he missed someone physically abusing his person.

"We run until we find them. We cannot stop." Legolas warned. Aragorn, who knew this already, nodded; the ranger was well used to long treks across great distance but it was Gimli that worried him most. Dwarves were not known for their fleetness of foot.

"Well what are we waiting for?" He demanded, beard wagging with the challenge.

Legolas slung his bow over his broad shoulders and then, along with Gimli and Aragorn, began to run.

* * *

There were several guests that left really sweet comments this week! Thanks so much. You guys keep me motivated. Someone suggested that I do a chapter or two from a different POV, so here you go. Hope you like it! It's a short chapter but I was trying to get it out sooner rather than later. Fingers crossed, my next chapter will be up soon.


	18. Fragments

I wonder whether I am free enough to know I too have entered the land of my undoing. - Mario Susko

* * *

Pippin was terrified. In his whole life, he couldn't remember a single moment when his heart battered against his chest as if demanding escape. Run away. Get away. Each thump seemed to scream inside him.

He never knew that fear could make you feel both hot and cold at once- heavy with dread and weightless from dizziness. A whirl of sensations that was entirely new threatened to overwhelm all thought. He hoped he would never feel it again and he was absolutely certain that he had never felt it before. Not when he and Merry had stolen potatoes from Maggot and had nearly been caught. The farmer had chased after them with his scythe, screaming threats the entire time. They had only escaped by clambering up an oak tree and hiding among the thick foliage until Maggot disappeared around the corner- chasing shadows.

He hadn't even felt it when Gandalf had caught them stealing fireworks at Bilbo's birthday party. From the look in the wizard's eyes, Pippin had feared Gandalf would turn he and Merry into something unpleasant- like a frog. Funny that didn't seem so bad now.

It was true he had very limited experiences with evil- mainly his brief meeting with the Ring wraiths and their trip through the mines of Moria. Other than those terrible moments, Pippin lived a comfortable life. He was a Took with a snug home in the Shire. One he desperately wished he could run back to.

Up to the moment he joined the quest, his life had been typical of hobbits. Smoking pipeweed, eating 6 meals a day (sometimes 7 when he was extra hungry), running through the fields, going to birthday parties. A life absolutely devoid of evil. The closest he had come to it in the Shire was Farmer Maggot. Even then, he knew that the gruff hobbit was merely protective of his crops. And rightly so. His mushrooms in particular were legendary all the way to Bree.

But he could recognize evil when it was next to him. Well, under him- he thought as he was jostled along. Merry had woken finally- only after they had poured that nasty black goo down his throat that had made him hack and gag. Not even his fear of the Uruk-Hai could keep Pippin from crying out in protest then. But it was fine now. Merry was awake and even weakly muttering. His cousin kept sending tiny smiles no doubt that he hoped would comfort Pippin. But to the Took, they just looked like grimaces of pain. Especially since Merry's teeth were coated by a thin film of blood. When he smiled, it would spill over and dribble onto his chin. Pippin was so tired of seeing red. It had recently become his least favorite color.

Who was he kidding? Nothing was fine. Lyra still hadn't woken. Her hair was a matted mess of blood, delicate pointed ears sticking out from the long strands now dark with gore. He and Merry had called to her over and over until one of the orcs had threatened to cut out their tongues if they made another noise. Pippin didn't doubt it. But Lyra was here. Unconscious yes. Pale and losing even more blood- yes. She looked so small and frail on the back of the giant Uruk-Hai and Lyra wasn't even a hobbit! But still, elves were strong. She just needed to wake up, he thought with impatience.

A white hot stab of shame filled him when he realized he was glad the half-elf had been taken too. He was so scared to be alone. Lady Galadriel promised him that he would find his courage but now it felt further away than ever before.

No matter how desperate their situation, it helped having someone capable nearby, someone responsible. Although they were technically older, the hobbits had been content to let Lyra take the lead on everything. He saw no reason to change that now.

After Boromir had fallen, the delicate barrier that had kept them alive to that point had shattered. The orcs had swarmed at them in a wave, crashing upon him and Pippin. Even Lyra had fallen under their assault. Although he tried to fight, to run, his struggles were pathetic for all the affect it had. He was useless against such instinctive aggression. But Lyra had helped protect them. He almost hadn't recognized her as she stood between them and the enemy. The girl they joked and laughed with had disappeared into something resembling a warrior. Gone were the soft hands that liked to brush through his curly hair. They had been replaced by hands that held a sword like one who knew how to use it. Like killing a dozen orcs had been an everyday occurrence. She had moved with a deadly grace and fluidity, reminding him of Legolas- just a little. He held on tight to the Uruk-Hai and hoped his friends weren't far behind. Aragorn would save them. Wouldn't he?

* * *

Pounding. On the ground. In her head. The world was crumbling and painfully stitching itself back together, splinters cutting its way through her mind.

Lyra cracked on eye open and immediately wished she hadn't. She tried to take a steadying breath and gagged when her nose was filled with the scent of rancid flesh. Then she realized it was the orc beneath her, the one whose back she was tied to, the one whose jostling motion had wakened her whose odor was filling her with disgust. Lyra just smelled like blood. Which incidentally didn't smell too much better.

The light hurt her eyes but she forced herself to scan the clearing. The plains were flat and smooth with little evidence of life. Far in the distance, the sky brushed the top of the land, a jagged dark line where they touched. To their right, there was nothing but dying grass and a bloody red sunset. To her left- rising up from the grasslands was a dark and gnarled forest that seemed to scrape and groan. But that could have been branches rustling in the wind, she told herself. Still, she noticed that although the orcs seemed content to run beside the border, they didn't stray too close to the trees.

She was so tired of orcs already. She tried to peer around behind her but the motion pulled at her shoulder, reminding her of the sword that had cut into her, through her. Now that her senses were returning, so was the feeling in her body. And nothing felt good. Her entire being ached and stung. She didn't even have time to feel dizzy at the realization when she was unceremoniously dumped to the floor.

The orcs ignored her, throwing down their jagged weapons, their broad chests rising and falling violently from what she guessed had been a long sprint. From the edge of her vision, Lyra glimpsed a few that set off for the forest. A moment later, the harsh sound of axes chopping trees filled her ears. If they were gathering firewood, they would be making camp. She doubted she'd be able to sleep but at least, she didn't have to be in such close quarters with orcs. She licked her lips and shuddered at the blood she tasted. Her legs seemed to work with only a little pain. Her arms were a different story as she tried to wiggle them, gently testing. Even the smallest movement had her gasping in pain. Her right shoulder was a mess judging by the wetness soaking her shirt. She sat up, the motion sending sharp pricks of agony into the already throbbing area. Her right hand stung and she was sure at least one finger was broken. Then there was that annoyingly persistent buzzing in her head that caused the world around her to move just a little too slow.

There had been a battle; brief flashes of it ran through her head. Lyra closed her eyes in concentration, trying to recall the events that led her here. They burst open as she remembered. Merry and Pippin had been carried off with her. Where were they? Ignoring the pain, she tried to wriggle around, keen eyes searching. And then when her chest felt it might explode, she spotted them- two hobbit heads- curly hair stained with faint traces of battle. She felt her stomach drop. They weren't moving. Why not?

"Merry? Pippin?" She called, her voice cracking from disuse. Two heads swirled towards her, each lighting up with a wide smile that she thought was deeply unsuitable given their current predicament. Unfortunately, the hobbits weren't the only ones who heard her.

"Finally awake elf scum?" An orc growled at her, his voice like the edge of a serrated blade. Lyra tried to keep the fear from her features when she regarded the dozens of orc that surrounded them with disgust. This was bad, really bad.

"Look at her. Scared stiff." One laughed and the others joined in.

"Check her wound." The commander she recognized from the battle ordered. Two of the smaller orcs seized her shirt, dragging her to her feet in a fast jerking motion that sent her head spinning and darkness rising. Rough hands pawed at her shoulder, ripping the makeshift bandage from it. She could feel the dried blood and skin give way and bit back a scream.

Then his fingers brushed something else at her neck and he snatched his hand away.

"Elvish sorcery. It burns us." He gave her a murderous glare as well as a swift backhand that filled her vision with stars.

"Leave it." The commander growled. "A trinket can't do her no good."

She hung limp, leaning heavily on one. Elvish sorcery? Her head swam in confusion until she remembered the gift from the Lady that still hung about her neck. Its presence gave her a fragment of strength she sorely needed to remain upright.

He quickly slapped the bandage back into place and tied it tight around her shoulder so that she nearly passed out. A fresh trickle of blood seeped from the wound; her shirt was already soaked with it. How much blood could you lose before there was nothing left? Lyra felt sure she must have already passed that point and wondered why she felt so heavy if there was less of her.

"She'll be dead soon. The Master wants to see her alive." The one who struck her growled to the commander.

She heard Merry and Pippin gasp at this and she tried to turn to comfort them, to tell them not to worry- that she was strong. But her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth and no words could get past the lump in her throat. Besides, she wasn't feeling strong. She felt weaker than she ever had before. Was this how dying felt?

Like each sense was slowing shutting down, abandoning her one by one. Even now she struggled to breathe through the pain, growing worse every second. If there had been anything in her stomach, she was sure she would have emptied it by now.

They grunted and growled among themselves, which quickly turned into a nasty scuffle that left several dead. One fell right next to her, his grey rotting skin rough against hers. Lyra didn't have the strength to move away.

"Take her on the warg. We will follow with the Shire rats." The commander ordered with a snarl and a snap of his jaw.

"Don't let them take us." Pippin begged, his panicked voice cutting through her. Lyra struggled to stand, to move, to do anything but it was as if she was weighed down with a boulder. Like the blood in her veins had been frozen. Her head was muddled and the darkness was threatening her once again. This time she fought it. She had to get to Merry and Pippin. If they were separated, something told her she would never see them again. But in the end it was no use. A Uruk kicked her down when she tried to rise.

She was seized and once again her wrists were bound so tight that the rope bit into her skin, adding another cut into the countless that marred her body. She wondered why they had even bothered. Even if they all magically fell dead, she didn't think she possessed the willpower to crawl an inch. When the orc was finished, he tossed her on the back of the warg. The wolflike creature growled and snapped his teeth as the rider mounted; Lyra felt his back vibrate with snarls. Then they leapt forward with a jolt, the beast's motion jarring her wounds. Merry and Pippin grew smaller in the distance.

The sky was growing dark; Lyra thought she could glimpse stars hidden above the dark clouds. Her thoughts flashed to her sister- the Evenstar. Beautiful, sweet Arwen. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine her family's voices- Elrond's wise and patient tenor, Arwen's melodic humming, the twins' teasing. They stilled the shivers that seemed to rack her bones.

She wished she had said more to them before she left. Her throat tightened at the thought. Would they find out what happened to her? Who would tell them?

There would be no body to burn, no corpse to give a final farewell kiss to. Two small voices were crying but already the noise was disappearing behind her, growing dimmer until the silence of the plains swallowed them up. The flicker of a dying star above was the last thing she saw before exhaustion sunk its claws in her and she fell asleep. She dreaded waking.

* * *

She hit the cold marble with a scream that reverberated in the darkness. She needn't have shielded her face from the kick that she dreaded. It never came. Already, she was alone. Her fitful sleeping had been ripped away when the orcs drug her down from the beast and marched her inside a tower. She was only awarded the briefest glimpse of a structure impossibly tall and glittering before the doorways had cut off the outside world and trapped her wherever here was. The band of orcs had disappeared through the door; it closed with a final shudder. And then there was silence that reminded her of the stillness of the Moria. Like something watchful and very dark was waiting just beyond her sight and the silence was just a shield for something else much worse.

She struggled to her feet, grinding her teeth as she swayed. Her head was heavy but her body felt too light and she was afraid she would fall again before she was able to find a weapon. The wide room had countless scrolls, candles- all tossed onto black desks. Surely, there would be something she could use as a weapon. But even if she found one, what good would it do her? She was surrounded by thousands of orcs and here she could barely stand on her own two feet without feeling faint. The bleeding wound on her shoulder had slowed to a lazy seeping but it still throbbed. The orcs had jammed some black powder into it. Although dirty and painful, it had prevented her from bleeding out during their ride. But now with dried blood and dirt mixing inside, it was only a matter of time before infection took her. For some reason, they had gotten her here alive but she doubted they were as concerned with keeping her that way.

She managed to stumble towards a desk and began rifling through its drawers. Dusty papers and scrolls. No weapons, not even a letter opener. What use did orcs have with things like these, she wondered. What was this place? And most important of all, why was she brought here? She laid her palms flat on the desk and closed her eyes. "Think Lyra. Think."

A hollow chuckle that held no humor reverberated throughout the room. "It will do you no good."

She swung around. There was no one, just the wildly flickering flame of dying candles. "Who are you?" She rasped out, frozen to the spot.

This time the voice responded inside her head- grasping and scratching at her mind. She collapsed to her knees from the intrusion. Shards of ice pricked from everywhere it touched and she could feel the joy, the satisfaction that her pain brought. The invisible presence was familiar somehow. Like trying to remember the snatches of a dream after you've woken. It blinded her until all she could see was black and all that filled her ears was his voice demanding things too quickly for her to understand.

"Stop!" She screamed, begging. All at once, the pressure in her mind withdrew leaving her gasping and fighting to breathe. There was something that felt so wrong; it left her feeling filthy. If not for her weak state and heavy breathing, she would have heard the footsteps as they grew closer. When she finally did take notice of another's presence, her body tightened and curled inward- like she could somehow protect herself from what was coming. Almost against her will, she looked up, her eyes widening in horror.

Her voice was a disbelieving gasp. "Saruman."

* * *

Hey guys! So, what do you think? Leave me a review and let me know!


	19. What The Eye Sees

**I knew what I was and I knew what I wasn't and as a consequence, I spent most evenings navigating my way through several states of disillusion.**

* * *

Strangely, Lyra's initial reaction was not to run. The way her limbs seemed to be weighed down with steel might have something to do with it.

Instead, she managed to stare directly in the eyes of her captor like some frightened animal. Blue eyes, she noted. If they were anyone else's, Lyra might have thought they were pretty. Or at the very least, captivating.

But now, all she could do was wince at the coldness of them- blue veins weaving shards of broken ice. They were sharp enough to cut at her façade, creating little openings that fear swarmed into.

There was nothing in his eyes. Nothing good. No emotion. Just an awareness that spoke of centuries studying adversaries, exploiting their weakness. He watched her so closely that Lyra felt if she breathed too deeply, she would find herself writhing on the floor drowning in flames.

"You attacked Gandalf." Were the first words out of her mouth, as much to her surprise as his.

"I did." He replied with calm acceptance. Perhaps slight boredom.

"What happened to you?" She wondered aloud. For so many years, Saruman had been one of the greatest supporters for good. He had fought alongside her father against Sauron. It was probable they had taken council together. Perhaps sat in the middle of a war camp, necks bent over maps and scrolls. Her father had trusted him. Like she trusted Gandalf.

 _How was it possible for one person to fall so far_ , she wondered.

"I have come to realize the truth." He said as if he was bestowing some great gift upon her. "Strength lies in power. The power of the elves is fading. You already know this." He barely moved when he spoke and Lyra was struck by just how different he was from Gandalf. While he could at times be harsh-especially concerning one troublesome hobbit- Gandalf was always laughing and smiling. Or at least, trying to hide one. He loved the hobbit's pipe weed, respected the elves' skills, and was both amused and exasperated by the stubbornness of dwarves.

There was so much more to Gandalf than being a wizard. At times, Lyra forgot the fact that he was indeed powerful. He was simply Gandalf. A friend. A companion. And to her, he seemed to be a combination of all the races. But Saruman was foreign- untouchable and so far removed from others. She could imagine him slowly going insane behind these deep walls.

"What about men?" Her voice had grown slurred but he appeared not to notice. Aragorn would find her. But even if he did, what use was one man against a wizard? Her thoughts were a jumble of cautious hope and obscure despair, swaying one way and then the other. And then back again.

"Men?" He scoffed. "Men are so easily corrupted, turned this way and that by the slightest whisper." She chose not to give voice to her opinion that it was he who had changed so drastically. He who the enemy had corrupted. He who had given into his fear and greed and abandoned them all. She suspected uttering the words aloud would have a significant affect on her lifespan.

"You're wrong. I know men who are stronger than you." She protested, trying not to think about how easily the wizard could bring her young life to a speedy halt with a twitch of his finger. She had never felt delicate before, even if her father tended to treat her that way. But at the moment, she might of well have been a glass figurine teetering on the edge of a table.

A spark of dark understanding lit his eyes. "You speak of Aragorn. A humble ranger from the north becoming king of Gondor- uniting the people, defeating the enemy. A children's bedtime story. Even you cannot be so naïve." His lip curled into a sneer. He began to circle her, his words falling on her back, berating and condescending. Never before had she felt so small and insignificant.

Lyra tried to push away the whisper that maybe he was right. Maybe the reason she started this whole journey was nothing but a foolish farce. "He has strength and I have faith in him. Another worthless human quality I suppose?"

She expected him to lash out at her sarcasm but instead; his eyes searched her even more intently than before- like her face was a page to a fascinating book. One he could uncover the secrets to and then dispose of. Painfully.

"Lord Elrond never told you did he?" He asked, dark amusement radiating from him. Her world turned small and piercing. The walls of it pressed against every side of her, until she felt they might suffocate her.

A stray thought tugged at her mind, demanding attention. She didn't want to die here. Not surrounded by filth and filled with fear. She didn't want to die at all, even though she could feel it creeping closer and closer towards her. But a good clean death seemed preferable to this. Almost anything seemed preferable to trading barbed insults with a wizard until he eventually tired of her and killed her with a single word, a flinch, a wave of his hand. Something that she couldn't even pretend to fight against.

Burying her thoughts, she pulled her attention back to his question. "Told me what?" She felt loathe asking, following him to where he so clearly wanted to go.

"I'll admit I was content never to meet you. After all, you should never have existed." He said instead, confusing her further.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, tiring of him tugging on the strings in her mind without touch.

"There are laws for my kind that surpass your own. We don't associate too closely with others- something Gandalf never understood. We do not mingle with elves or humans. Such an offspring would be a vile creature- not meant for this world."

"Why are you telling me this?" She asked, not even attempting to disguise the impatience leaking into her voice. Her grip on reality was wavering again. A small part of her mind wondered if she was really talking to Saruman at all. Perhaps she was still with the company and this had all just been a nightmare. She blinked hard and willed herself awake.

But no, there was no nightmare that could hurt this much. Her blood on the floor was a swirl of red on white and black marble and to her; it looked like a brand to mark her existence. But no matter what she had been through- no matter how many orc blades had cut into her skin, through her- the wizard's next words hurt even more.

"As a product of that mistake, you should know what you are."

It wasn't true. Couldn't be true. But- her mind said. But…

Hadn't she killed orcs without touch? Hadn't Lady Galadriel told Legolas to watch over her? Hadn't she done things no human could have ever done? Hadn't she always felt…different?

"That's not possible." She protested, her hand grasping at her heart. It continued to pound when she would have sworn it had stopped. She was afraid to look down, afraid that if she did- she would see a monster in place of her skin. Afraid that if she looked at her reflection in the dark windows, she would see a trace of the same madness of Saruman- one that had lain dormant under her skin and now demanded to come out.

"It would be wise to accept your situation. As my daughter," the word caused her to flinch as he continued- "You will tell the Dark Lord what he wants to know. The only choice you have is how much of you is left when that happens. He can leave you broken in a thousand different places. No one would ever be able to put you together. And then, I promise you will wish for death. You'll beg me for it but I won't give you that mercy."

"You're a monster." She gasped, stunned by the pure hatred burning through her. She could feel the flames of it licking her body, melting through the shock and filling her with something else. Something that made her breath come faster and harder, something whose darkness welcomed her own.

"If I'm a monster then so are you." He said, reminding her what she was a product of.

"I'm nothing like you." She protested, staring up at the eyes so dark and cold. Were hers like that? Why had Elrond never told her? Or Lady Galadriel? A tremor of anger ran through her. How dare they keep secrets from her? Especially a secret like this.

"Your blood is my blood." He echoed her poisonous thoughts.

"My mother." She grasped it like a lifeline. "I'm from her too."

"Your mother." He paused at her words, frozen to the spot. "Your mother was a whore I killed soon after I discovered she had given birth."

She flinched at the venom that soaked his words. Her mother was dead. She had always suspected it but to have that secret fear confirmed hurt. She was so tired of being hurt so she lashed out in anger. "What does that say about you? That I'd rather be the daughter of a whore than that of a wizard."

"You will learn respect as well as pain. I will teach both to you." He promised, looking more eager than she would have liked at the prospect.

"Don't do me any favors." She growled, an iron thread of rebellion rooted deep inside. Hurting him with words felt good. Or, at least pretending she could hurt him did. For a second, she could forget about the fever ravaging her body, forget that she was being held hostage and probably awaiting torture. She could forget about the gaping wound that still seeped blood.

Tainted blood, she now knew.

She closed her eyes as a wave of bone deep weariness washed through her. When she opened them, it was to find herself standing. Almost against her will. Like someone else had taken control of her body. Her eyes flashed to Saruman. He had an ugly smile on his face- strangely fervent.

And whatever he was eager for didn't bode well for her. His wizard's stick was tightly clasped in his hand and the long bony fingers resembled gnarled branches themselves- so tightly they gripped it.

He strode over to a dais in the center of the room- one Lyra's eyes had first been drawn to and slowly- like he was unveiling some great treasure- slid the cloth off.

"You know of the Palantir I assume." He murmured, recognizing the horror in her eyes. She tried to take a step back but with a wave of Saruman's hand, she took a step forward instead. One stumble towards it. And then another.

The stone was impossibly smooth and so obscure, she could glimpse her terrified reflection in it. And then there was something else- a swirl of red and yellow that was worse than the uncertainty of darkness. An awareness that fixated on her, calling her to come. Come. Come. The demand turned brutal when she hesitated.

And then her hands were held up, reaching, reaching.

With a jerk, her fingers grabbed at the desk to her left, trying to ground herself. The air around the black stone was hot and heavy; she couldn't breathe in its potent fumes. The blood on her fingers made her grip loosen and the wound on her shoulder pulled a little further. The pain was immediate and sharp and had her crying furious tears. Angry at him for being her father. Angry at herself that her protests were so weak, fruitless. Angry that Elrond had never told her, angry at the company for letting her get taken.

She struggled backwards, her muscles screaming in protest. But in the end, it was no use. He was a wizard who wasn't limited to physical power and she was hopelessly outranked.

She tried to summon what had happened before inside the Mines. It lay dormant inside and no matter what rage she concentrated on, fear was like a wave that left her anger sputtering. There was only the Eye ringed in flame and her being lured closer and closer. Its heat was suffocating and drew the breath from inside her, consuming life. And then, her fingers brushed against the stone, the lightest whisper of touch and the room seemed to implode. Darkness collapsed around her and only this existed. Only this.

A scream filled the room, echoing through the dark halls and Lyra couldn't even tell if it was hers. There was so much pain and weight, pressing further and further. For a brief moment, she wondered if her head would explode, splatter gore over the pristine walls. There would be nothing left of her.

And then the pain began to speak.

She ground her jaw against the pure evil that filtered through her veins, controlling her thoughts, rifling roughly through her mind. She pushed back and tasted thick coppery blood. It was choking her, rising until it spilled down her nose, through her lips. It was just like being in a dream that kept her suspended in nightmares. Only this was real and she might never wake up. The voice demanded her attention and a little of the pain lessened, just enough to think. It asked her name.

Lyra tried to twist away but her arms refused to move. She felt something cold and smooth against her cheek. Had she fallen on the floor?

The pain demanded an answer. She couldn't feel the tears that spilled from her clenched eyes or the blood she drew from her own hands, the way her broken finger bent further until the bone bent sideways, almost comical in its severity. She could only try to pull away in vain and hope her death would come faster than it was. The Eye was keeping her ground to the world when all she wanted was to fall away.

And then she remembered something else- a life that existed outside the pain-slowly, like water trickling through the smallest opening.

Someone else- encouraging her to stand. His lips were turned down in a frown as he surveyed her, looking none too pleased with what he found. And then he was laughing at something she said- smooth and deep with an undeniable boyish quality. She fought to put a name to the face. A prince-Legolas.

How did he find her? She attempted to smile and had a feeling it came out more as a pained grimace. The air around him shimmered golden as he knelt next to her, gently ran his calloused fingers over her forehead to brush away a bit of dried blood.

That felt so wrong and for some reason she couldn't identify, Lyra felt the need to hide, to bury herself deep in the ground so he couldn't see.

He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't have his innocence dirtied by her father. By her.

She wished he would go away. It was just making her hurt more, in a way not wholly physical. She looked up to demand he leave only to find he had disappeared as though he was never there.

Once again, she found herself alone but this time she _remembered_.

And those memories swept into her mind like a floodgate had opened, soothing some of the sharpness there.

Lyra could see him now and then she realized with a jolt of dread that the Eye could too. Violently, she shoved his name from her mind but it was too late. The pain had seen and demanded to see more. It wasn't much but the memory was enough to make Lyra struggle. To hold one for just one more second. One more minute. One more hour.

A furious need to protect someone since she couldn't protect herself gave her the fragment of strength she needed to grasp that weak string that kept her tethered to reality. One more second. Its repetition became a mantra against the pain.

* * *

Time passed quickly or lay suspended. It was a trickle and then a violent gush. She only knew when her eyes opened she was on the floor with the smell of blood in the air and tangible darkness thinning into soft wisps that drew back into the stone, turning it the color of dark water once again. A few candles had been lit and flickered weakly in the dimness of the room. Through the windows, she blinked furiously and tried to catch sight of trees, the mountain, a night sky. Anything. But there were only shadows and somewhere close by- the sound of thousands of orcs surrounding her. She just wanted to stay there- on the cold floor with her hands grasping at nothing and her heart thundering away. There was no voice. It had faded away but she could still feel its presence- hidden under the cloth for now. If she moved, it would find her again so she remained frozen to the spot, afraid even to breathe.

A tall man looked down at her- studying her still form, pursing his lips. She didn't like his eyes- deceptively blue. There were so dark she might have called them black. Not like someone else- sky blue. She blinked away the sudden image in her mind. Lyra- her name was Lyra. Her father- that's who he was.

It all came back with a rush and she couldn't help the sob that escaped her throat. It was a broken sound and led her to guess she had been screaming. Maybe for hours. She wondered how many screams these walls had been witness to. It was all too much and she was so tired. Keeping her eyes open was proving impossible. There was noise around her but it sounded so far away, an echo at the other side of a long tunnel.

She closed her eyes against the absence of evil as everything threatened to pull her back under. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea at the moment. Everything hurt so badly; it seemed her whole body was bleeding and aching so that she could think nothing other than the present pain that submerged all senses. Not even the voice that demanded her attention, screaming.

Until she was roughly seized by a large and stinking hand that punched her stomach, the breath leaving her in a rush. She choked on air that refused to enter her lungs. She knelt on the floor, her forehead brushing the ground as spittle and blood dripped from her lips, drawing a pink line from her lips to the stone. A horrible retching noise filled the room, echoing against the lofty ceiling. Lyra didn't even have time to realize it was her before she finally drew in a breath. The panic subsided now that she could inhale but the pain in her side didn't abate. Each gasp was labored, a fight to stay in the land of the living.

"Take her back to the dungeons." Saruman commanded. "Tomorrow we will start again." The words were a promise and a curse.

Lyra couldn't find the strength to resist when a burly Uruk seized her and began to drag her roughly from the room. How was she supposed to fight- to run away when there was nowhere to go? No one to save her? The world had been destroyed. Sauron had won and the return of the ring had sealed the destruction of everything she loved. All her friends- dead. She had seen them die, seen their bleeding and broken bodies lying in pieces on some far away battlefield. And she couldn't save them. Still, he had forced her to watch.

She couldn't even lift her head as she was drug through the halls until the air grew cold and bitter. The Uruk-Hai barely paused as he tossed her to the floor of a dark cell with a parting growl. Lyra pressed her cheek against the rough stone. She was just so hot, even as shivers raked her body. Her blood felt like it was boiling in her veins. With a medical detachment, she ran through her symptoms. Blood loss, a wound no doubt infected at this point, dehydration, fever.

And then there was her mind, her spirit. She felt shattered and unwilling to even try and piece it all back together. Slowly and so carefully, she crawled on the dirty floor until her fingers scraped against a wall and with a great deal of groans and gasps, she was finally able to sit up and lean against the cool stones. She tried to press herself closer as the chilliness of it seeped into the angry skin around her wound and numbed just a little of the pain.

The seconds ticked by with urgency, reminding her that any time now, Saruman would be back. Would control her body, take her to the Eye, and shake her mind until reality blended with nightmares. And not being able to tell what was what- tearing at those imaginary seams would only rip her apart.

Imagining facing _that_ once more caused her stomach to rebel as an icy hand gripped it and squeezed. Even in a dark cell, she couldn't escape the Eye. It was inside her veins now, rushing to her heart, corrupting everything. Ruining everything.

She couldn't take it again. She knew this like she knew the sun would rise. It was a simple fact- undisputable. No matter how strong she tried to be, how much she fought, it was a joke played against her.

With shaking fingers, she reached until she found the necklace still at her throat. The vial pulsed, faster and stronger than her own heart. Almost like it was calling to her, reminding her of something important she had forgotten.

It was cowardly but Lady Galadriel had given it to her for a reason. She must have known, must have suspected what was hidden beneath Lyra' pale skin- the darkness it hid.

To do what needs to be done, the words echoed back to her, sounding much more foreboding now that she knew the truth behind them.

Besides, they were all dead. They had lost and with it, Lyra's reason for surviving vanished. What did it matter anymore? She didn't let herself linger or second guess.

So, she stilled her shaking hand lest she spill the few precious drops and brought it up to her lips, tipped it in her mouth and swallowed. Then, she lay against the cold floor and counted her remaining breaths.

* * *

Hey guys. So...what do you think? I know. I know. In LOTR, the wizards don't have kids BUT since this is fanfic, I get to do what I want. And at the moment, that is torturing poor Lyra.

Thanks to everyone who left such nice comments on the previous chapter!

To the person who asked about where the story got its name from- "I'll get there, if I leave everything but my bones behind," said Sam. "And I'll carry Mr. Frodo up myself, if it breaks my back and heart." It's a quote from LOTR that I really love and I thought it summed up the theme of the story pretty well.

The quote at the beginning of this chapter is not mine. I can't find the author and it's driving me absolutely crazy! Anyone know it?

What do you think will happen next? Leave me a comment and let me know! :)


	20. Wake

If I told you a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?

Poetic Justice- Kendrick Lamar

* * *

The light was brilliant in its intensity but it didn't hurt.

That wasn't right. Everything hurt.

But the light didn't. It was soft and warm and chased away the chill that kept her frozen. In its presence, she felt some of the ice begin to thaw.

She took a deep breath. It smelled like grass and leaves and sunlight. Like home. The scent invigorated her and when the light moved, Lyra followed it upwards. It moved faster and faster, urging her to chase after like a game. But Lyra didn't feel the joy of a child encountering wonder. Instead, the swell of white-hot panic bubbled inside her chest, constricting her throat, blurring her vision.

Desperate, she hurried close behind, heart beating faster. She couldn't let it get away. If it did, the darkness would return. And with it, the pain.

Lyra grasped the light in her mind, holding it tightly against her chest; afraid it might evaporate at any moment. That was too painful to think about. Chancing a glance, she lifted her hand to her face and opened her fingers. Just a peek, she promised, to assure her it was still there.

The light broke into a million pieces, each one dancing around her like sparkling diamonds, sending shards of color into the sky. Lyra looked up at the murky blue sky, soaked with stars and smiled. It was peaceful here but she knew she wasn't alone. She could feel the presence around her like a warm blanket, like a brush of breeze across her hot skin.

Gentle, soothing, sheltered.

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. _Wake up, Lyra._ It prompted. _Wake._

No. She didn't want to wake. It felt too nice here and so safe. She tried to ignore it but the voice grew in her mind, louder and louder until she had to press her hands against her ears to keep it out. The voice was inside her head, reminding her that she had heard it somewhere before. It came again, insistent, impossible to ignore. Impossible to disobey.

 _Wake._

And as the sky fell and light coursed through her veins, Lyra opened her eyes.

* * *

It took several seconds for Lyra's vision to adjust to the complete and utter darkness around her. It took a little longer for the voice and the dream to fade until she couldn't quite remember who had spoken. And then as her body moved, less pleasant memories swarmed back in a jumbled rush. Saruman. The Eye. Orthanc.

The hooks may have been removed from her mind but she could still feel the agony of the bleeding punctures where they had laid into her flesh. She bit back a strangled sob, caught in her throat.

The vial didn't work. She wasn't dead. It was a testament to how bad things had gotten when the thought of being alive filled her with dread. She tried to feel angry instead of hurt; but it was surprisingly difficult to summon enough energy to do so. So instead, she managed to fix the wall opposite her with a weak glare.

Time passed, a single minute or several hours. Without a window, it was impossible to tell. Her thoughts would race ahead and then she would find herself thinking of nothing at all, wondering if the world beyond these walls had been destroyed and forgotten about her.

She was in the midst of debating whether the ceiling was made of black stone or covered in dark mold when the cell door opened with a grating scrape against the floor. Pulled from her mindless wonderings, Lyra tensed and waited.

And waited. After several long moments of silence, she dared open her eyes. There was no orc leering above her, ready to drag her away. No Saruman with eyes that burned like coals.

There was nothing. No one. Just an empty doorway that teased her in its impossibility.

She must be dreaming, but no dream had ever hurt like this one. Dreams wouldn't save her now. She couldn't even remain unconscious long enough to get any decent respite. What a lousy situation, she mentally berated herself.

Groaning, Lyra struggled to her feet, almost against her will, like something invisible was pulling her forward, keeping her upright. Her steps brought her to the cell door. She peeked around the entrance. Nothing but an empty chamber greeted her. The air was chilled and bit at her bare skin but she was so hot, burning from inside that sweat poured in small rivulets down her face and stung her eyes.

Some strength returned to her limbs, just enough to take a few steps forward. And then a few more. The rest of the cells were empty and the dungeon steps gave way to a long and narrow stairwell that led up. Lyra didn't allow herself to stop and think as she began to climb.

Where was everyone? The dark halls were eerily silent and empty. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought Orthanc had been abandoned.

Still, she continued through the maze of corridors with one hand against the wall for support, leaving bloody fingerprints too dark to glimpse against the black granite.

She turned one corner and saw the first body- an orc sprawled on the ground. The scream died in her throat as she shuffled backwards, taking cover around a sharp bend. With her breathing ragged and her heart battering against her chest, she waited for the orc to sound the alarm and come after her. It wouldn't do any good to run. She doubted she would get more than a few steps.

But nothing happened. So she looked again, cautiously this time.

If not for the muscled chest moving up and down, she would have taken the body for a corpse.

She inched her way around it, expecting it to jump up at her any second. The breathing continued but not so much as a muscle twitched.

Heaving a small sigh of relief, she stepped around it only to come in contact with a dozen more, all in the same position- eyes closed on the floor, frozen limbed, and utterly oblivious to her presence.

Maybe the vial had worked after all, she reasoned. Fighting a sudden wave of hope, she stumbled down the roughly cut stone steps.

There was only one door- one last thing between herself and escape. Ignoring the pain it caused, Lyra pressed her whole body flat against the surface and pushed with all her strength. At first nothing happened and for a moment, Lyra wondered if the door were locked, if this was just another clever ploy designed by her father to torture her. Offer hope just to snatch it away again.

But she tried once more, gritting her teeth and shoving all her frustration angrily through her body.

Slowly, very slowly, the door creaked and moaned and then finally, it moved. She slipped though the small space she created and shielded her eyes against the bright sun overhead. Blinking rapidly, she swept her eyes over the horizon.

With the tower behind her, there was nothing between her and the forest beyond. Nothing except an open plane, forges underneath where thick smoke still billowed out of, and orcs.

More than she ever wanted to see in her life. Lyra glanced to the dark windows above her, menacing in their veiled scrutiny.

Feeling braver, she limped forward, as fast as she was able. Orthanc was littered with bodies; it seemed to her that a great battle had just taken place. Albeit a bloodless one. Just as Lyra considered that luck might finally be on her side, bodies began moving. Barely, but with her eyesight, she caught a glimpse of darkened fingers tightening. A leg twitched. Breathing grew louder and more ragged.

No. No. No. This was not happening.

If she could make it to the forest, maybe she could lose them among the maze of trees. Up to this point, adrenaline had kept most of the pain of her injuries at bay. But as she made her way towards Fangorn, she began to feel the deep burn and sharp throbbing from her fight with the orcs. How long had it been since then? It felt like years since she had seen Merry and Pippin being ripped away. And even longer since she felt Aragorn's hand on her shoulder or heard Gimli making a joke. Usually at her or Legolas' expense.

Legolas. She bit her lip and forced herself to stagger forward. If she closed her eyes, she could see him smirking down at her in that infuriating way, almost hear his deep voice asking what was taking her so long. The thought pushed her forward. She didn't risk looking back, too scared of the sounds she heard growing.

Angry noises, voices yelling, jagged edges scraping across metal.

They were going to catch her, take her back. And she knew that seeing Saruman again would be nothing compared to before.

The thought left her hollow and dizzy. Lyra stumbled and fell. The noises were louder now, growing with each second. And then, a branch snapped in front of her.

She lifted her head and gasped.

"I must be crazy." Lyra said, her voice cracking from misuse.

Standing a few feet away and peering down at her with a curious and almost impatient expression was perhaps the most beautiful horse she had ever seen. It pawed at the ground and skirted alongside her, like there was an invisible boundary that kept him from coming closer. Keeping her eyes trained on the animal, she lurched to her feet, trying to keep her movements unhurried so as to not spook the horse away. After being surrounded by filth for so long, the horse was a shock to her system, gorgeous and entirely out of place in the wasteland that surrounded them.

"Please don't leave me." She breathed, no more than a whisper.

She had always spoken with Hisime absentmindedly in Rivendell during their rides but the conversations were eternally one sided. Never before had she felt such awareness coming from an animal or felt intelligence than matched most people. It was like the stallion actually understood- not just her words, but also the fear and panic she was trying to hide. He allowed her to step forward and made no move to run away.

"Hello, my friend." She murmured softly in elvish. She wasn't sure if it was the words or the power of the Eldar, but the stallion quieted. She coughed, the hacking sound tearing through her throat.

For a moment, Lyra felt ashamed and dirty. She was covered in grime and blood and touching the horse would surely dirty him. Her own blood was so tainted…

As if sensing her thoughts, he dared move forward enough to nudge his muzzle into her waiting hand.

His coat was softer than anything Lyra had felt before and she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers over his velvet ears and down his striped muzzle.

With fingers that shook, she brushed her hand down his broad neck, the muscles twitching nervously under her touch. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply the scent that reminded her of the stables at Rivendell. For the first time since she awoke, Lyra was seized by the strangest desire to cry.

But a powerful uproar from behind her pulled her attention away. There were orcs up now, and even though some swayed uneasily, most remained on their feet. She could feel the hatred in their eyes. All directed at her, wanting nothing more than to spill the rest of her blood.

"Bring her back." Saruman's voice boomed over the land, unnaturally loud and commanding. She saw his white robes swirl in a tower window, pale against the shadows cast by the sharp steeples. He might as well have been standing directly beside her for the waves of fear that crashed throughout her. She couldn't go back. Wouldn't.

The stallion dropped to his knees, allowing her to grab his mane and clumsily pull herself onto his wide back. The jostle as he charged forward almost managed to unseat her but she buried her face in his neck and held on with all her remaining strength.

Slowly, the noise and smells of Orthanc faded as he galloped towards the forest and away from the dungeons and orcs and pain.

Away from her father. Still, as Lyra caught a glimpse of the wet red stain on the horse's coat beneath her, she knew that she would carry him with her forever. She didn't look back.

* * *

Hey there everyone! I know. I know. I'm horrible. It's been forever. Sorry guys. I've been busy and stuff, blah blah blah. Excuses. Excuses. Anyway, I know this is a short chapter but I'll have another out soon! Leave me a review, kay? J


	21. Under the Same Sky

We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence... We need silence to be able to touch souls. - Mother Teresea

* * *

Pippin sighed and tried to work out a knot from his shoulder.

More specifically Treebeard's knot. It was rigid and round and what he guessed to be an extension of the Ent's trunked arm. He itched to ask but felt it would certainly be considered rude. After all, how would he like it if a tree asked him what that thing on the side of his head was?

Treebeard was rumbling about something again in that voice that seemed to shake the earth a little. Pippin wasn't exactly sure if he liked it. Hobbits loved nature and things that grew. And of course he reasoned, trees were things that grew. But in the Shire, they normally didn't grow so tall…or talkative.

Still, after several hours, talking to a tree grew rather normal. Ordinary. Boring.

It didn't help that Treebeard would break out into Old Entish in the middle of a sentence. Which to the hobbit sounded like the whisper of a breeze among leaves or the scrape of stones. No doubt that's what finally managed to lull the other hobbit into slumber.

He glanced at Merry, settled very snuggly down below him. _On the comfortable side of Treebeard_ , he thought with another sigh. Completely dead to the world, with his mouth hanging open and soft snores drifting through the air.

 _Keeping me awake_ , he aimed a sharp glare at his cousin.

No. No. That wasn't fair. He doubted he would be able to sleep even if he were back in the Shire with a lovely feather pillow and a pint of good ale at his bedside table.

Thoughts kept him awake. He scrunched his nose in distaste. Never before had such unexceptional things as thoughts kept him from his ten hours of much appreciated daily sleep.

But they did now. And if he were honest with himself, he suspected they would for a while.

Still, there were some things to be happy about. Gandalf alive being the foremost in his mind. Even though the wizard was often gruff and forced him to wash dishes and pulled him by his ears, Pippin suspected that deep inside, Gandalf might actually be fond of him.

 _Had_ been fond of him, he mentally corrected. Until yesterday when he and Merry had been sorely relieved that instead of Saruman, Treebeard had brought them to Gandalf instead.

And then they told him all that had happened.

Even the White Wizard seemed worried when he and Merry had blurted out the truth, stumbling over their words. Guilt it seemed tangled a tongue just as effectively as a panicked mind. And how could he not feel responsible? After leaving poor Lyra all alone…

It had been difficult for Pippin to meet Gandalf's eyes. He told himself it was because of the bright white robes that seemed to shimmer in sunlight. But in truth, he was afraid of what the wizard might find there.

Of course it hadn't worked and he knew at once the dark worries that had plagued the two hobbits thoughts- ever since they had lost their friend on the back of a warg, covered in blood and delirious.

If only he was taller and stronger or knew how to wield a sword. Looking back, he very much wished he paid better attention to Lyra's weapon instruction in Rivendell. Instead, his only desire had been to explore the babbling brooks near the forest and raid the kitchens searching for something other than greens.

Stupid. Stupid, he berated himself.

For the first time since setting foot on the path that would lead to Mordor, Pippin felt a complete and utter failure. Fool of a Took, Gandalf had called him in the mines. How right he was, Pippin now realized.

Why had he come? It had been so easy to volunteer; he couldn't leave his friends to face this journey alone. Of course not! Perish the thought.

But at that time, they had been clean and well fed and surrounded by a fair city. And alive, he swallowed hard, thoughts flickering back to Boromir.

As was his way, Gandalf was not one to leave without bestowing a small hint of hope.

"Pluck up young Peregrin Took. Friends are not lost yet." He had told the two, moments before their parting.

"You mean she's alive?" Pippin and Merry had demanded at once, voices raised in unison.

"Lyra remains hidden from my sight. But you must have faith in her. As will I." He leaned heavily on his staff but on his wrinkled face was the beginning of a smile. But Pippin didn't smile back. Couldn't. The muscles in his face felt frozen and rigid, like he had not used them in years.

"You didn't see her Gandalf." He had confessed in a breathy whisper when Merry had wondered away in search of their guardian.

"Elves are stronger than what meets the eye." He reminded.

"But she's only half elf." Pippin worried his lip and fought the tears that were threatening to betray him.

"The future is uncertain Pippin. But faith keeps us alive. You must not be afraid to hope. It may not desert you yet." At the time, the words had felt like a rebuke but now, cocooned in darkness with only the stars above as light, Gandalf's words caused a little of the heaviness in his chest to ebb away. Hope. Even a Took could hope.

Shards of starlight flickered through breaks in the thick foliage above.

"I'll see you again Lyra." Pippin promised them, his voice lost in the wind that ran through Fangorn and then beyond. He wondered if his friend could see them too.

* * *

Hello lovely people! Since I made you wait so long for the last chapter, I figured I'd try to get another out ASAP. I know it's short but since some people requested different POVs I'm gonna try to include someone every few chapters. Anyone have any requests on a certain POV?

I love writing Pippin cause he's so darn cute and innocent but I'm open to other characters!


	22. A Child of Stars

We fear loneliness for two reasons. Either we fear being left with ourselves, or we fear what we shall find in the midst of that isolation; or both. - Noor Shirazie

* * *

Lyra caught a glimpse of a thousand gleaming stars before she retched. She tried to aim the contents of her stomach to the side. Away from the horse below her. With a tired groan she wondered if she succeeded.

"I'm sorry." She apologized, just in case.

A strange sense of deja vu hit her. Hadn't she been in this situation before? A scowl aimed just at her for being sick. Ah, Erestor. The thought of her father's general made her grin, even though it caused the cut on her lip to pull and ooze blood again.

What did it matter anyway? The scent of blood had seeped into her very skin. At this point, she could hardly remember what she smelled like before it.

It was surprising how a smell that once overwhelmed her with feelings of wooziness had become her most constant companion.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Not that it did much good. She tried not to think of what she had just possibly smeared on her face. Thoughts like that never led to a good place.

The most surprising thing about her ride? She didn't hurt. After days of being in nothing but brutal unending pain, the tingling numbness that had swept over her body had been a blessing. True, there were shivers that racked her body and sweat that led her to believe her skin was on fire.

But she was fighting to remain positive so she hurriedly pushed that particular thought away. Her skin had soaked in the sun's warmth before it vanished behind the tall peaks of mountains far away. That had been hours ago, hours that passed in a muddle of silence and growing darkness. The moon and stars kept company above but they did little to instill any warmth into her body. Still, without the gleam of the sun, it had been easier to see, to keep her eyes open.

At least that had been her mindset until the sky above her and grass below her began to swirl together in some chaotic dance. Her stomach had rebelled at the dizzying motion and soon, her hacking retches had replaced the previous silence of the empty plain. Her stomach was completely empty but that didn't stop it from trying to force her lungs out her throat.

"Ugh." She said when the remaining shudders on her body finally quieted. "Nasty."

The horse it seemed quite agreed with her and quickened his pace.

"You're a nice horse." She murmured, twisting her fingers between its mane so she wouldn't fall off. "Do you think I'm a nice person?" She asked.

The horse below her snorted rather forcefully in reply.

"I don't know if that's a yes or a no." She complained. "If Aragorn were here, he would know. I've never learned to talk to horses." She admitted, blinking hard.

Below, she felt a shudder run through its back. "I know I should be ashamed." She bit back another cough. "But it's just wishful thinking now."

Lyra wasn't aware of the tears until her eyes began to cloud, her vision blurring around the edges.

The smooth gait of the stallion soothed some of the confusion in her head, pushing her towards the dark cloud of sleep.

But she couldn't sleep. If she closed her eyes, she would see things she didn't want to. She might never get away again.

The stars were dancing for her and a light shined in the distance. Not the wild and fragile light of stars. Firelight- red and orange flames. A hungry light. The horse below her turned towards it and Lyra wanted to ask him why. The light from above was much more interesting.

It was raining. No, she only imagined it was.

If it were raining, the water would be running in fat rivulets down her arm, cleaning away the filth that clung to her. Rain didn't sting so. But her hair was soaked and something soft ran down her neck, wetting the collar around her shirt. The drops roused her and called things to mind that she would rather stay buried.

She counted the rain's pattern, matched it to her breaths. One. Two. Three. It took away a little of the loneliness.

Go to sleep. Wake up. Lyra's mind ran in circles, chasing the stars as they left behind sparkling dust.

There was something pressing on the edges of her consciousness. Voices. Men's voices. She tried to turn towards them, to ask them to be quiet. They were scaring away the stars. Already darkness had begun to swallow them up. But the voices were everywhere, all around her and never in the same place twice. Then there were hands on her, grabbing her arms and waist, making her topple sideways. She tried to open her eyes but they were so heavy and the sleep that beckoned her weighed them down. Some things were impossible to resist.

It started raining.

* * *

Another short one guys but I promise the next few will be much longer. Thanks for the recent follows and reviews!

For the guest who left me the awesome review- thanks so much! What a high compliment!

RLMz- I'm glad you like the POVs! Thanks so much for reviewing!

Laradith- I'm gonna try and hurry and not make you guys wait as long as last time

Jshaw0624- Intense? Thanks!


	23. No Glory Here

"I flinch when most people touch me and I don't know why. There are days when I dream of someone coming into my life and holding my hand with so much intention, with so much forever in their fingertips that my fear of everything seems to slip away. But then there are days where I cannot imagine a single finger grazing my cheek without me being terrified of everything around me, of the way hands can break bones and drown love, of the way endings are inevitable." –Amanda Helm

* * *

Lyra was skirting that strange place between the pull of sleep and the light twitches of awareness. Her mind was deliciously foggy, focused solely on trying to burrow further into the warm peace she found herself in. But there was one thing that seemed intent on disrupting it.

Snores- loud, grating, deep, garbling snores.

"Gimli." She barked out, her voice rough from disuse. "Quiet." She groaned, turning her face further into the soft warmth.

Something was pinching her shoulder and the air stung her throat but if she could just get back to sleep, it would all go seemed to work because the sounds drifted off soon after. With a small sigh, she settled back into the cocoon of blankets.

"My lady?" A voice that was certainly not Gimli's caused her eyes to snap open with an unpleasant jolt.

Her head swam as she studied the other occupant who was busy studying her in return. "You're not a dwarf." Were the first words from her mouth. The man frowned and glanced down at himself.

"I've not met many dwarves but from what I've heard, I hope I don't resemble them too closely." It was true. The man was tall with broad shoulders and tangled hair that hung just past his neck. Although he had a beard, it was closely shaven and much thinner and softer than a dwarf's would be.

"I'm sorry." Lyra said, taking a quick glance around. The tent she found herself in was small but sturdy, with a makeshift bed and a chair next to it where the man had fallen asleep. No doubt watching over her, she realized with a pang of guilt. "I heard snores and-"

"Ah." He laughed at that before coming to sit at her side. "My apologies." His eyes were a deep muddy brown and though they studied her closely, Lyra could see kindness in the smile he offered. He leaned forward, hand on her shoulder and paused. "Do you mind if I look? The bandages might need to be replaced."

She nodded, forcing herself to relax as his calloused fingers gently pulled the white dressing from her skin, now stained a rusty brown. She caught a glimpse of raw jagged skin roughly stitched together before forcing herself to look away and concentrate instead on the words the man was speaking.

"You gave us quite a scared, my lady. Riding up, covered in blood, delirious. We had taken you for dead." He murmured, so close to her that she could feel his warm breath ghost along her neck. It was harder than it should have been to sit still.

"Is the horse here?" She asked, remembering the strange stallion who had saved her from Orthanc. The memories were fuzzy but she could remember the comfort of having company that didn't seem intent on killing or torturing her. Even company that didn't really talk back.

"We tried to restrain him but he ran away as soon as we pulled you off." He replied, noting her disappointment.

"Oh." She picked at the collar of her shirt, several sizes too large. Her fingers stilled and she felt blood pour into her cheeks, much to her embarrassment. "My clothes…" she was unable to meet the man's eyes but she felt him shift further away from her.

"We had to get to your injuries. I assure you -there was no- your honor is intact. We would never-" he started and stopped, no doubt as crimson as she.

"I'm sorry. I should be thanking you." She pushed her embarrassment away and tried a smile. It only felt a little forced. Progress, she reminded herself. "Who are you?"

"Eomer, son of Eomund. And you?" Although he appeared to have relaxed, Lyra could see the tension in the bridge of his nose where his brow furrowed as he waited for her reply.

"Lyra, daughter of-" she paused before forcing herself to continue- "Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

"You're a long way from home, my lady." He noted, making her smile a little.

"True enough." She agreed, forcing thoughts of Rivendell away. It seemed her attention had been absorbed with little else recently. Home had become the safe haven her mind ran to in times when reality became too much. Lately, that was more often than not.

"Where were you headed when we found you?" He asked, standing and tossing the bloodied bandages away. He strode over to a small wash table and poured a glass of water before offering it to her.

She took it with a nod of thanks, forcing herself to take small sips. "I'm surprised you're not asking me where I came from instead." She forced her expression to remain calm but heard some steel seep into her voice.

"From your condition, I take it was nowhere good." He replied, shrugging easily. "I don't imagine reliving whatever you went through so soon after would be helpful in recovery."

His keen eyes made her squirm. "It doesn't matter." A horrible thought hit her. She had no idea where anyone was. Pippin and Merry could be arriving at Orthanc at this very moment. She didn't even know if Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn had survived the fight. Boromir's image burned in her mind- stuck with arrows, fighting for breath that refused to come. All her companion could be dead. A wave of weariness washed through her, like weights on her limbs at the thought. What if there was no one to go back to?

"Your injuries have not time to heal." Eomer's words pulled her eyes to him. "We only managed to stop the bleeding but your wounds were dirty and I fear your body might still fight infection. It's best you stay with us."

Lyra felt herself stiffen at his words. "Do I have a choice?" She demanded bitterly, taking a long drink of water. It soothed some of the burn in her throat but not in her chest.

Eomer blinked in surprise. "My lady, you are too hasty. I would never keep you captive. It's your own wellbeing I have in mind."

She grimaced. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful for all your help." Hurting someone else didn't help like she thought it would. It only left her feeling emptier.

"You've been through quite an ordeal I'm sure." He replied with such warm understanding that Lyra flinched. She didn't want his pity. Didn't need it. If he only knew…

"Where are you headed?" She asked instead, catching sounds of soldiers outside- heavy foots stomping, the snort of horses, the sharpening of weapons.

"Rohan. My uncle sits as king." He said, a shard of darkness creeping into his expression.

She didn't have the energy to consider his reaction before her own eyes were closing again. "I've never seen the home of the horse lords." She said dreamily. Eomer chuckled in reply and this time when she closed her eyes, there were no snores to keep her from sleep.

* * *

Emoer it turned out was good company. Not as lively as the hobbits or Gimli of course. He wasn't a joker and didn't do silly things.

But he also wasn't as moody or confusing as Legolas. He was honest to the point of being blunt. But he was a good listener when she wished to talk and even more patient when she let silence fill the gap between them.

The company had risen even before the sun had taken to the horizon. After she had finished dressing and splashed cold water onto her face to chase some of her weariness, one of the guards presented her with a horse to mount. It was still dark and she squinted at the brown mare that perked her ears towards Lyra. With one shoulder wrapped and another hand splinted, she found it impossible to grab anything hard enough to boost herself into the saddle. The poor soldier had held the horse steady and shouted up what he thought were helpful suggestions as she awkwardly attempted to pull herself on, without full use of either arm.

"Don't grab the mane. She won't like that."

"There you go, foot in the stirrup. Now push….push harder."

"Don't hop about."

Lyra had gritted her teeth to keep from quipping that she knew very well how to ride, if only she could get on. The guard had kept his arms outstretched to catch her in case she fell off. She knew he was awkwardly trying to be gentlemanly and not lay a hand on her unless she asked. She had rather hoped he would just shove her onto the beast but he waited, as patient and unhelpful as ever.

"Problem?" She turned to find Eomer behind her, looking far too happy at this time of dawn and far too amused with her situation.

"No problem." She said, giving the horse a pat. "We're just getting to know each other."

Sighing, he picked her up with another word and tossed her onto her horse. The guard who had been trying to help her fixed his lord with an expression that was extremely grateful and almost awed.

She sniffed and wriggled on the horse. "I was almost there." She insisted, wondering if this whole trip had been an elaborate plan to embarrass her in as many ways as possible.

"No doubt. But I do want to move the company before darkness falls."

She couldn't help the snort that escaped her at that.

* * *

As they rode next to each other, Eomer regaled her with interesting tales of the people that lived in Rohan. The company of men he led were much like their commander- mostly silent and slightly apprehensive of her but pleasant enough. Though they didn't bother her, she often felt their curious stares upon her back.

Eomer was attentive to her needs as well. It was easy to see that he had not had much experience traveling with injured females and knew little of how to treat them. Lyra wasn't used to being fussed over quite so much but his kind consideration was appreciated. Most of the time when he asked how her wounds felt, she would assure him she felt no pain. Often despite the opposite. Riding with her hand and shoulder tightly wrapped wasn't pleasant but in a few days they would be at Rohan. She could rest there. And take a much needed bath, she thought with warm anticipation.

He had just finished recounting the story of his first ride on an untamed stallion. After the horse had thrown him, he had assured his uncle with many tears that he would never again set foot off the ground. He had Lyra to the point of tears when they reached a sharp turn in the forest.

The sight they were met with forced the laughter from her lungs in one swift punch. The smell of carnage hung putrid in the air. Most of the bodies in the clearing lay facedown, waterlogged and swollen. Men and orcs, mixed together in grisly piles. The puddles around them were a thick muddy red, the mixture of rain and blood. For all the bodies, there was so little noise. It began to rain, the drops making small pings on the shields and swords that roused the living from their stupor.

"This victory, this glory should be ours. The prince's men were highly trained. How could mere orcs reduced them to corpses?" She heard one guard whisper to another.

"There is no glory in battle you fool, not for the living and not for the dead." His hands shook as he gripped his sword tighter but his voice was steady. It was a way of life to them, she supposed. Men died all the time, even before it was their time. Death was a constant visitor for humans.

"Find the king's son." Eomer's command shattered the heavy silence. Lyra trailed behind as the soldiers jumped to obey, wading in among the dead and turning bodies over, searching the faces. Every so often, there would be a horrified gasp, as an unlucky man turned over a body once familiar to him. A friend. A father or brother. No one had been spared in the massacre.

Eomer leapt down from his horse. "Theodred!" He called but of course there was no answer. There was a curious mix of growing despair and stubborn hope on Eomer's features as one by one, the dead were turned over and his cousin was not.

"Here!" One of the men called. "He is here!" Emoer hurried over; helping them men lift up a boy, not yet a man. There was some family resemblance she could see- the cut of the jaw, the color of the hair. But it was all covered in grime and blood. His face was so pale that Lyra suspected much of his life had already seeped away.

"Get his wounds bound. We ride for Rohan." He ordered, watching the men carry away his cousin. Small drops of blood fell from the body, leaving a red trail behind it. The helplessness on his face made Lyra's heart tighten in pain.

And then she saw something that made her heart almost stop altogether. Eomer bent down and picked up a helmet, much too large and rough to be a man's.

"The white hand of Saruman. The wizard has turned his back on us." He seethed and tossed the armor away. Lyra flinched as it hit the ground near her feet and rolled forwards, like it was drawn to her.

"My lady, you should not be walking yet." He looked up at her with surprise evident on his features, mistaking the distress on her face as one of lingering weakness from her wounds.

Her father, she realized with a shudder that had nothing to do with the rain soaking her clothes.

Her father had done this to Emoer's cousin and now here he was comforting her. The unfair irony of it left her feeling sick and close to tears.

If he knew, if they all knew, would her head still be on her shoulders?

Lyra doubted it.

* * *

How's it going everyone? I know some people were wondering who the strange man who pulled her off the horse was. Just plain, safe Eomer haha. However, I do have a big surprise coming up soon. And remember what I said about different POVs. If anyone has a request for one, leave me a comment and let me know! BTW, almost to 100 follows?! You guys are awesome!


	24. Feed Me Lies

"Whatever causes night in our souls may leave stars." Victor Hugo

* * *

Another three days of hard riding later and Lyra was finding it increasingly difficult to bite her tongue when it came to pain. There was no great healer among the company of Rohirrim.

Which meant Lyra was stuck with Eomer.

Although he tended the wound on her shoulder faithfully, that mainly consisted of poking and prodding it and watching as it became increasingly raw and red. The bleeding had slowed during the day, though every night there was rust colored film on the bandage. Her entire shoulder had become swollen and sensitive to the slightest touch. And she had a horrible suspicion that her finger had begun to grow crooked. She dreaded the thought of breaking it anew only to set it again. After all, she could live with a slanted finger, couldn't she?

Unlike Lord Elrond, Lyra had never expressed much interest in the art of healing. Rather, she had concentrated on the talent of putting injuries there in the first place. Recently, she spent much of her time wishing she had paid more attention to his lessons.

Not for the first time, she wished Aragorn were here. He would know what to do. He always did. Unlike her and unlike the men around her.

As quickly as the pity seized her, it passed, leaving her feeling selfish and childish. She knew she had no right to complain.

Not when Theodred grew paler and weaker by the hour. Eomer held the prince secure before him when they rode, his head lolled on Eomer's shoulder, jolted back and forth as they galloped along.

There were a few times when Lyra imagined his breathing had stopped altogether. But he fought on, despite the occasional moans of pain. Due to the gravity of his condition, Eomer decided not to stop again for a full night. They would pause for a few hours, giving the horses not nearly enough time to rest before pressing on again. During their brief breaks, Lyra would lie against her saddle, drifting on and off. A sense of panicked urgency pushed them to ride harder and faster until the horses were lathered in frothy sweat.

The worse part came when they were only a few hours from Rohan and Theodred stopped making any noise at all.

Then there were times when Eomer would speak to her and she would only stare blearily. The world always seemed to be moving a little faster than she could keep up with. The constant pounding of hooves had become fuzzy and distant, like someone was holding their hands over her ears. Her fever had returned with a vengeance and she spent all her time divided between wiping sweat dripping from her neck and shivering from sudden seizes of cold. If only her body would pick one, she sighed with annoyance.

She spent the endless ride thinking of the Fellowship, imagining how they would meet again. Of course, they were all happy. She finally decided she would hug Aragorn. He would be guilty for letting the orcs take her, she knew. And easing his guilt would not be easy, but she could manage.

She would present Gimli with a large pint of ale and a gigantic chop of mutton.

The hobbits she would throw snowballs at.

And Legolas…there were several tempting situations. But finally it was decided she would push the prince into a lake. Or shoot him in the butt with an arrow.

Yes, both brought satisfied smiles to her face. It was so difficult to choose.

Of course she had no idea where she could find ale, mutton, snow, and a lake together but it was her daydream so she decided not to stress over the finer unrealistic aspects.

A distant horn broke her away from her happy wonderings. It was only then that she looked up and noticed the humble city that lay tucked in the middle of a massive plain.

Scents wafted towards her- freshly baked bread, a blacksmith's fire, drifting smoke as they urged the horses faster. Before she knew it, the gates were being pulled open, creaking inch by inch. And then they were inside. It shut behind them with a final shudder.

Eomer rode in front, leading the company past the stables and homes. Instead of the joyous reunion she had expected, people watched them ride by, uttering barely a word. Lyra hid behind her long hair, keeping her eyes fixed only on the path before them. She didn't care about their curious stares on her, no doubt trying to figure out exactly what she was.

Not when the possibility of a bath was waiting right behind the walls before her.

A hot bath. She would even be grateful for a cold one. She shivered in eager anticipation before glancing down at her disheveled appearance. Dirt and grime caked her hands and arms. Blood coated her face and even stained some of her hair. And she was beginning to smell, she noted as she wrinkled her nose. Though not as bad as the men around her.

The further they rode, the more she realized Rohan wasn't exactly what she had expected. The Golden Hall was the high point of the city and stood atop a steep hill, overlooking the thatched homes below, which shone like fire in the high sun. The outside was plain, sturdy, proud.

Like its people, it was the product of hard, meticulous work. Rather than being gaudy, it was useful. Elegant in its simplicity.

A high wind swept at her hair as they reached the top, invisible hands tangling it further. But the breeze brought with it the fresh smell of the grass and hay. So, she decided she didn't mind.

Eomer jumped from his horse with an energy that betrayed the weariness hanging about his shoulders. Several other men helped him carry Theodred inside. Lyra just focused on getting down without collapsing in a boneless heap. That would be most embarrassing. In the past several days, she had remained as helpless as she ever wished to be.

As her feet touched the ground, her legs feeling like they might collapse at any second, Eomer was back, taking her arm and lending some of his massive strength. He half carried, half drug her into the Golden Hall too quickly for her to appreciate the detailed workmanship surrounding her.

"My sister Eowyn should be somewhere around here. She can take you to the baths. Get yours wounds cleaned. I'm sure we can find you a suitable dress somewhere." He said, footsteps echoing off the lofty walls around them.

Lyra made a face at that. "I don't like dresses."

He laughed in reply. "Well, a shirt and trousers then. That is, if you don't mind being stared at constantly."

She took a quick peek around. Men and women alike threw inquisitive stares at her, looking away far too quickly when she glanced in their general direction. "I think that'll happen anyway."

"We're not used to having elves for company. I assure you it's not done with malice. People are just curious." Eomer said, noting her discomfort.

She nodded and graciously decided not to over think it. Because after all, she was getting a bath. A bath. The two words became a happy chant that filled her mind and put a smile on her face.

"My Lord Eomer." A man clothed in a uniform so clean it seemed to glow bowed to Eomer and gave Lyra a small nod, unsure how to address her. "The king commands your presence."

"Very well. But first, I must see Theodred and of course you may make yourself presentable." Eomer told Lyra.

The guard cleared his throat. "I'm sorry my lord but he commands your presence. Now."

Eomer's forehead crinkled at that. He stared at Lyra, somewhat uncertain. "Perhaps it's best we don't announce you yet." He began, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder.

The guard interrupted him. "He also commands the elf's presence. I'm sorry my lord." The apology seemed genuine which did little to settle her nerves. She felt her spirits take a slight dip. It was all right, she reminded herself.

She would take a bath…soon.

"You have a good relationship with your uncle don't you?" Lyra's whisper carried as they were led through the halls. Dusty paintings full of unfamiliar figures hung on the walls; a surprising majority bore striking resemblance to the man beside her. Before he was able to reply, they arrived in the throne room. It was close to deserted, with only a few guards standing at their post. If not for the ways their chests dipped and rose, Lyra might have imagined they were statues.

On the throne sat a man whom Eomer bowed to, but Lyra had never seen anyone resemble a king less. He looked to be older than Gandalf. His skin, full of deep wrinkles, looked dead and slack on his face. His hair matched the tone of his flesh and was even a bigger mess than hers. All in all, he reminded Lyra of a dead fish that had been shriveled up and tossed into the water again.

"A company of orcs attacked your son, my lord." Eomer's voice was calm, though his hands shook in tight fists. When the king failed to respond, he added with more force, "If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."

"That is a lie." An invisible voice spat. When the shadows at the king's side began to move, it was then that Lyra saw another man emerge, masked by his long black robe.

 _Don't judge by appearance._ Lord Elrond had pounded that lesson into her head countless times. Given, it was usually referring to enemies' strengths and weaknesses but she found it valuable advice in other areas too. Which is why when she first caught a glimpse of Grima, she didn't cower in fear or aim glares towards the man.

Sure, his hair was filthy and hung in oily strands over his face. The skin beneath his eyes was stained in a permanent dark bruise. His face was sallow and pale and glistened with sweat that he constantly dabbed at. But that didn't mean anything, she reminded herself.

No, it was only after he began to speak that Lyra started to think less of the man. And then things began to go very wrong.

His words were carefully prepared snares as he and Eomer radiated tension, both trading sharp barbs.

"Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman." With that, he tossed the proof at Grima's feet. With no more a reaction than a flicker in his eyes, Grima stepped between them and the king. An insignificant exchange that spoke volumes.

"Saruman has always been our friend and ally." His eyes turned to Lyra, pinning her to the floor. "You know that very well, don't you?"

She stiffened even further if that were possible. Run away, her mind screamed. _Run away_. But Eomer stepped forward, a clear challenge shining in his eyes.

"You have no authority here. The king sits on his throne. He will decide." Eomer turned to face his kin, and Lyra saw that his face did not hold as much faith as it should have.

"Uncle?" But the king did not move; he didn't even glance up. Instead, his hand gripped his throne, the long nails cutting into the wood.

Grima took this as some sign. "You bring the king's son back at death's door. Perhaps it was you who ambushed him."

Eomer's face tightened in outrage and Lyra saw that it was taking everything he had not to fly at the man in a murderous temper.

"We have several witnesses willing to attest that it was you and not a band of orcs that attempted to slay Thedored." Grima's lip curled upwards into a smirk.

"He saved him." Lyra protested, disliking very much where the conversation seemed to be headed.

"Then why do these men say differently?" At his words, the world around her slowed to a crawl.

Lyra turned as though moving through heavy water. The door behind them swung open and more guards poured in, holding two men between them. Neither looked pleased to be there, especially since one was spouting the beginning of a black eye, already swollen and the other had a steady stream of blood pouring from his nose. She recognized one as the soldier was had tried to help her on the horse days ago.

"Bring them forward." Grima commanded. The king sat still and made not a move. His head hung forward, like there were weights around his neck, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Now here we have two brave men who dare to tell the truth. Two men who were with you. Tell us what happened." His voice rang around the room, reverberating against the ceiling.

The first man spit towards the throne in reply. "Lord Eomer found the prince already injured and brought him here, you evil, lying-" His words were abruptly cut off as he received a swift punch in the gut.

"Liars will be dealt with the same as traitors." He nodded at one of the guards. Lyra watched it all happen slowly, already anticipating the inevitable.

A broad sword was unsheathed. For a second, the candlelight glimmered off its silver side and then it was inside the man with a savage jab. She saw the sharp tip peak out his back, now red and then he withdrew, leaving the man to fall to his knees. His breath was a violent gasp as he struck the floor, blood all around, seeping from the now lifeless body.

"Now, tell us what happened." Grima was saying to the remaining man whose attention remained anchored on the corpse.

"It's-" he licked his lips, eyes darting back and forth from his captain to Grima. Finally, he seemed to swallow a cry. "It's true."

"What is true?" Grima demanded impatiently.

"Lord Eomer- he, he tried to kill his cousin." The man was crestfallen as he forced the words out, like they were sour to taste.

"And now the truth comes out." Grima knelt next to the king, stroking the gnarled hand. Lyra fought the rise of bile in her throat.

"This crime is unforgivable and the culprit will be punished with the pain of death." Grima declared, a leer on his face despite the enormity of the words. Eomer began struggling anew and though he was strong, the men were freshly rested and greatly outnumbered him. Eventually they wrangled him from the room.

Lyra remained frozen to the floor, unable to utter a sound or move a muscle. It was only when the door closed and voices drifted further away that she turned her attention again towards the throne. Not at the king who sat upon it but at the man standing at his side, the man who truly held the power.

"Eomer didn't kill anyone. But you already know that." When he didn't reply, she asked against her better judgment, "What is it you want?"

"You must be Lyra." His attention was a slow burn on her senses and she fought not to squirm under it.

"How do you know that?" She asked instead, trying to keep her voice steady and failing.

"We've never met but I'd know you anywhere. It's strange- the striking similarities." His eyes roved over her face, searching for something and finding it.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, floundering for the connection that she was clearly missing.

"You'll find out soon enough. Besides, your father will be very eager to have you back." _There._ She saw what had been hidden behind his eyes burning through all pretenses.

"You work for Saruman." He didn't bother replying but Lyra could see the satisfaction as ugly realization dawned. "You can't take me back there. They won't let you." The words were out of her mouth, tumbling around in a desperate haze.

"Who won't, my dear?" The way he asked was almost gentle but Lyra could see how much pleasure he took from her pain, how he enjoyed her struggle to remain ground. She worked her jaw, fighting for an answer and finding none.

"No one is coming for you. No one here will protect you. If they would not stand up for the king's nephew, what make you think they will for you?" He took a step closer. "When they find out what you are, they'll beg me to have you killed."

"I'm not like him." She insisted, not sure who she was trying to convince more.

"You fear him. That's good. Fear brings out our truest nature." He was closer now, so close that she could see the blue veins underneath his skin, frail as cracked parchment.

All at once, the tenuous hold on her tempter snapped and with it, so did her hand.

The slap echoed harshly in the room, a declaration of sound and rebellion. She grinned at the red handprint on Grima's face, standing out like a beacon against his pallid skin. The shock of pain in his expression felt good deep down to her stomach. She wondered how it would feel with a sword in her hand.

Her satisfaction didn't last long. A burly man grabbed her from behind, his fingers digging into her wound so tightly that black spots danced across her vision.

"Lock her up for now. There is something I must see to first." His eyes found her again and this time, there was no pretense in them. "Saruman will be most grateful to have his pet returned. I wonder what he has in store for you."

* * *

Lyra didn't struggle as she was taken away. Or when one man shoved her into a room. She didn't look up even when one guard replaced the other. The urge to kill him had been so completely overpowering. If she had the chance… _Murderer,_ her mind whispered. It was only when she heard a female voice, unusually deep and melodious that she glanced away from the floor.

A woman with long wheat colored hair stared down at her. She was asking something, with concern evident on her features but Lyra didn't hear. The guard answered for her but that didn't seem to satisfy the woman.

"Is the whole world falling apart?" Lyra asked her suddenly, taking both the woman and the guard by surprise.

Brushing off the soldier's objecting hand, the woman knelt before Lyra. "What?" She asked.

Lyra licked her lips. "It seems everywhere I go, people don't take well to me."

"Surely that's not your fault. You seem alright to me." She answered kindly, offering a tentative smile.

Lyra chuckled. "You've known me for all of two minutes."

"Well, I am an excellent judge of character." Her eyes flickered over to the guard, demanding attention without words. "What has she done?"

"The king has found her guilty of countless crimes, Lady Eowyn." His answer was stiff and wooden, much like his expression.

Lyra was about to demand that he list just one crime but the woman's name took her back.

"You're Eomer's sister?" Lyra asked, wondering how she hadn't noticed before.

"You know my brother?" Surprise flickered in her eyes and the beginning of wariness. Lyra thought it was almost comical how alike she seemed to her brother when she did that. Distrust it seemed was a family trait. Still, with everything that had happened, she had every right to be suspicious.

"Get out." She ordered the guard, who cleared his throat and clutched the handle of the sword at his side.

He shifted his feet uneasily. "I'm supposed to keep watch over her."

"The doors are locked. There is nowhere to go. Stand outside." She gave the order like a woman who had her entire life, like someone who was used to being obeyed. Lyra suspected it was this and little else that led the guard to sigh and nod and meekly brush out from the door, latching the door behind him with a heavy click.

Eowyn glanced down at Lyra, her expression softening. "How are you?"

"About as well as I look." Lyra answered, a trace of annoyance behind her tongue. _What did she expect?_

"That bad, huh?" Eowyn quipped back. Lyra couldn't help the weak laugh that escaped her. "About my brother..."

"He saved me near Fangorn." Lyra explained. "A few days ago."

"Do you know where he is?" She asked in a single breath, the spot above her nose wrinkled in worried expectation.

"I'm sorry but Grima- he sent him to be killed." Lyra forced the words out, even though they tasted bitter.

Eowyn paled. "Grima." She spit out with disgust before standing and straightening her heavy skirts again. "I must speak with the king." She called back, practically sprinting from the room.

"Yeah, I don't like him either." Lyra announced to the emptiness around her.

* * *

The guard returned shortly after Eowyn left. Although they were alone, he still stole a look around before dropping something onto her lap. Lyra frowned and focused on the small roll of bread.

"It's not poisoned is it?" She asked, only half teasing, already ripping off a piece with her teeth. He failed to answer, but several minutes later and one less roll, Lyra was still breathing.

"Where is he planning on taking me?" She asked, stretching her legs out in front of her, feeling the coolness from the stone seeping through her clothes.

To her surprise, he answered. "We have cells below for criminals. During celebrations, there is much ale and some of the men become violent." He shrugged rather sheepishly. "They're not used often."

Lyra groaned as irritation flooded her veins. "Not another dungeon."

* * *

I know a lot of you guys are looking forward to the reunion between the Lyra and the hunters. I promise it's coming soon! Hold on just a little longer haha. I added another chapter from Legolas' POV because someone requested it. But that's for later. For now, leave me a review!

BTW, if anyone likes Harry Potter, I just wrote an angsty one-shot. You can find it on my profile.

Arasa17- thank you so much for your lovely reviews! I know some of the story outline is kind of typical but I'm trying to add a few original ideas in there to change it up a bit.

Laradith- I promise I will have the reunion soon, haha. I feel bad keeping you in suspense but I have a plan for it. I promise!

RLMz- I added another Legolas POV just for you. But that's a little in the future. I'll try to hurry it up for ya!


	25. Blue Bloods

"Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room." — Cheryl Strayed

* * *

If Lyra hadn't been so utterly exasperated with her situation, she might have laughed. The so called guards who were charged with "escorting" her to the dungeon below, instead stole glances at one another the entire way, as if waiting for the other to comment on how wrong this all was. Waiting for the other to act first.

But they kept walking, fear keeping their mouths closed and guilt making their footsteps even more hesitant than hers.

Both men and women paused as they watched her being led by. But Grima had spoken truth- no one tried to help her. Some watched her with curiosity; others weren't able to meet her eyes. They shuffled about guiltily, pretending they didn't hear. Didn't see.

But she couldn't even summon up enough energy to be angry with them. However long Grima had been in charge was enough to fill the people with fear. In Rohan, everyone was a prisoner. Her cage just happened to be visible.

Grima had ordered 7 men to accompany her to the cells below.

As if she had the strength to kill 7 heavily armed men.

Without a weapon.

With a rather sizable hole in her shoulder.

With each passing step, the candlelight and noise of voices faded behind them as they turned through narrow stone corridors. And then the ground slanted downwards, growing chill and dank with musk.

As dungeons went, those at Rohan were rather unassuming. Half a dozen cells stood next to each other, a few crisscrossed metal bars the only thing separating them.

Piles of hay lay haphazardly spread on the stone floor, masking the smell of what she imaged this place could contain. The room was large enough for her to walk around in, complete with a splintering wooden bench that Lyra suspected would give away if she sat on it.

Of course a bed would be ideal. Or a bath.

No, she forced that thought away. It was strangely more painful than the wound on her shoulder. A bath…

Two of the men hurried forward and drew a bronze key from his waist. With shaking fingers, he inserted it into the rusty hole, twisted and opened the door with a noticeable screech.

She didn't doubt they wanted to finally be rid of her and the moral ambiguity she brought with her.

For a brief moment, she paused and waited to see if the men would exert any strength at all. Maybe they would let her go. The next words of a guard squashed that hope.

"All the way in miss." A hand on her back urged her forward gently. She almost wished they had just tossed her in by force.

She sighed and stepped inside.

The door slammed shut and the heavy lock clicked into place, sealing her inside. Alone.

One man paused and met her eyes. He opened his mouth, gaped for words of comfort, and shut it sheepishly before walking away without making a single sound.

Lyra turned to face her new temporary dwelling. In the corner of the room, a bit of hesitant moonlight seeped through interlaced bars, just enough for Lyra to fit through. If she could knock one out, that is.

The first thing she did when the guards disappeared was grapple with the rods of steel that kept her barred from the city outside.

After gathering a slight sheen of sweat and the beginning of bruises on the palm of her hands, Lyra prepared to scream with frustration.

Then someone spoke.

"It's no use." A voice noted. Male, deep, fluid.

It coiled around her, causing goose bumps to appear on her arms. If not for the empty cell, she would have guessed he was right behind her, whispering into her ear.

"Who's there?" She asked, squinting into the darkness of the compartment next to hers. There were only outlines of shadows- some moving and some remaining still. Anything else was impossible to see, even for her. It was times like these she cursed having weakened elvish senses.

"I already tried the windows. They're still solid, on my side at least." She heard someone shuffle in the dense gloom. "Still, I guess it doesn't hurt to try."

Taking a deep breath, she gripped the bars tighter and winced as some rust broke off in her hand. She gave it one last pull before she kicked the wall with growing defeat.

Groaning, she limped to the wall and slunk down.

"Told you." The voice remarked, a hint of amusement lacing his words.

"What did you do to get put down here?" Lyra asked instead, narrowing her eyes, despite knowing it would do no good. She could barely see a few feet in front of her face.

"What did you do?" He effortlessly turned the question back to her.

She chuckled. "Dark secrets, huh?" Biting back a groan, she turned her body this way and that, trying to find a spot where the jagged rock wouldn't jut into her skin. "I am being sent back where I just escaped from." She answered, aimlessly drawing small curling patterns in the dirt beside her.

"Where's that?"

"What's your name?" She asked instead. She wouldn't think about Orthanc now. She refused. After all, there would be plenty of time for that later.

"Linus." He had shifted to the other side of the cell. Pacing. It was impossible to know if that boded well or ill for her.

"I'd like to say it's nice to meet you but-" She shrugged and let her words fall away.

"You don't know me?" To her surprise, he sounded disappointed, almost crestfallen.

"Am I supposed to?" She asked, flicking away small pieces of gravel on the floor. They skirted up small clouds of dust smoke and disappeared in between strands of golden hay. If there was sunlight here, the floor would have shined and glittered like gold. Just like the rooftops she had ridden by earlier today. As it was, she felt more like a stock animal in a barn.

"I had thought he would have told you about me." Linus eventually answered, his tone deceptively light.

"Grima?" Lyra huffed. "We didn't exactly sit down and have a heart to heart."

"Not him." There was a slight pause, uncertain. "Saruman."

Lyra froze as prickles of fear stroked a flash of abrupt heat through her body.

"What do you know about Saruman?" She turned her body to face him now, tense and halfway suspecting Saruman himself to appear before her.

"More than I wish to. I don't mean to scare you. You don't have to be afraid of me." She remained silent, still unconvinced. "It's just he told me so much about you, how he was going to find you. But that was before I got away."

When Saruman failed to show himself, Lyra licked her lips and asked, "You mean he kept you there?"

Linus' breath was a weighty pause. "For over a year." He answered, his voice carrying nameless weights. She could only imagine the things he had seen and been forced to endure.

Lyra felt a sharp pang of pity. She had barely survived there a week. How would someone last a year?

"How- how did you survive? Why did he want you? How did you get away? Did a horse help you?" The words were out of her mouth in a rush and tumbling around. She floundered for stability in her racing mind and found none.

"A horse?" She imagined Linus cocking his head to the side, questioning.

"That's how I got away." Lyra admitted, feeling a little foolish.

"Interesting." He sounded positively cheerful, leaving Lyra to winder of his mental state. The poor man had probably gone mad. It was no wonder.

"So?" Lyra asked, after several seconds of prolonged and for her-agonizing silence.

"So what?" He asked. If she wasn't mistaken, his voice was lazy, teasing.

"Aren't you going to answer my questions?" She fought away the urge to punch something. Or someone. But the only one here was Linus and she doubted it would be in her best interest to hit her only companion.

As much as she wanted to.

"Which one?"

"All of them!" She exclaimed, feeling the childish inclination to stomp her foot.

"Not very patient are you?" Without seeing his face, it was hard to tell if the voice was filled with amusement or admonishment. Lyra suspected it was a little of both.

"Listen Linus. I've only got a few hours till sunlight. And that means I'm going back to Orthanc. Somehow, I don't think I'm lucky enough to be rescued again. So, if you tell me how you got away, I might be able to do the same."

"You won't." He said, far more casually than Lyra thought the statement deserved.

"Get away?" The fleeting flutter of hope abandoned her.

"No. You won't be taken back there." He replied with absolute conviction. Despite it all, Lyra had to hold back a laugh.

"And how am I supposed to avoid that? I can't escape. You said so yourself. And I doubt Grima will suddenly have a change of heart between now and then." She replied sarcastically, knowing very much that if she didn't make a joke of it, she would burst into tears.

And she was so tired of crying.

"I'll keep you safe." It was a simple promise but if left Lyra stunned.

"You don't owe me anything. You don't even know me." She shoved away the knowledge that it felt good to have someone offering to protect her. Worse even, she almost believed him.

A faceless stranger in a cell.

As much as she fought being the responsibility of another, she felt safer with him. A man she had never seen that she met only moments ago.

The irony of it was not lost on her.

She heard Linus open his mouth to say something more but a loud clang from above interrupted them.

Pairs of feet shuffled down the stairs with harsh resonating echoes. Lyra held her breath and let it out in a relieved gasp when only two men appeared before her. Unlike those who had locked her down her before, these men wore no insignia of Rohan on their person. They were dressed simply, each with a long sword fastened at his side. Thick leather armor clung to their sturdy forms, making them appear even burlier than they already were.

A jangle of keys echoed through the dungeon as they unlocked her cell. She glanced out the window. Daylight was still hours away judging by the murky darkness she found there. It was too soon.

"Who are you?" Linus asked. The man refused to answer, just shot the dark cell next to hers a strange look as they filed in one after another. For a painfully long minute, they simply stood there and stared at her.

Waiting for something that was a mystery to her.

"Ah, the silent type huh?" Lyra noted, fighting the urge to squirm. She turned her back on one and faced the other. "What about you? Anymore talkative than your friend there?"

She didn't hear the man behind her, didn't feel his arms around her until it was too late. His grip on her shoulder was bruising, squeezing so tight she was unable to take a step either way. The other man came directly at her and swung hard and low; she didn't have time to blink let alone move away. His fist drove into her gut with such force that she doubled over so tightly that she imagined she would never be able to stand upright ever again.

She collapsed to the floor, clutching at her stomach. The side of her head hit the floor with a dull thump that seemed to bounce and immediately sent her brain pounding. The air refused to enter gasping lungs as she hacked, eyes watering, desperate for breath.

She couldn't see or hear what happened next. But her whole body shook with the impact of it.

One of the men stomped down on her arm, hard. The scream that escaped her was almost inhuman. She didn't even realize it came from her until her throat and lungs were burning with the force of it. She heard Linus too, begging the man to stop, sounding just as pained as she felt.

Her body was shattering into a million pieces.

This arm wasn't hers. She repeated it to herself over and over. It couldn't be.

This arm had bones jutting out it and blood was pouring from the broken punctures. This mess of broken gore wasn't her.

She wasn't here.

Unfortunately, her body refused to comply. And the pain burned and stabbed her like a million knives pricking her skin. She didn't try to move away; there was no reason. The cell door slammed shut behind her as the two men left her alone.

And that was when she came to the realization that men could be just as evil as orcs. Their footsteps were even, like nothing had happened; they were gone as suddenly as they had come.

"Lyra, Lyra can you hear me?" Linus was calling to her, pressed up against the bars, straining to get to her.

She didn't answer. Couldn't. The shock of what happened strangled any noise in her throat. Not fair. Not fair. Not fair.

It would be good to die. Lyra pushed that whispering voice away. After what she had gone through in Orthanc, she refused to give up here. She could be strong too. Stronger than a broken arm. Stronger than what Grima could break.

"Lyra, you have to wrap it. Come here." Linus wiggled his arms through the bars. The thought of moving brought bile up to her throat and threatened to turn her stomach. She swallowed it down.

She would not be sick. She would not be sick.

The chant echoed in her head over and over again. After grasping further control on her stomach, she peered towards Linus. His hands were still there, waiting, stretching out as far as they could.

Lyra knew she was teetering over a deep precipice and at any moment, she could fall one way or the other. Gritting her teeth, she refused to consider her actions or stop to think. If she did, she knew she would never move again. So she used her good hand to push herself to a seated position. She might of well have been swallowing fire for all the pain that blazed through her. With another scream, she was on her feet and then stumbling towards Linus. His hands grabbed her arms, steadying her.

Strong hands, she noted. The contrast between his pale skin and the darkness around them was mesmerizing. Her head hung while he held her secure and fished something through the bars between them.

A shirt, she fixed it with a weighty stare. A shirt that seemed terribly out of place.

"What are you doing?" She asked blearily, her words slurred from pain and shock. It was strange because she felt everything else through sharp intense probes. Adrenaline had fractured the world into separate splinters. Smells- dirt, night, and blood- penetrated her eyes until tears drew wet tracks down her cheeks. Her heart pounded so violently that she suspected her chest would burst with its force. It hammered beneath her throat and behind her ears like it was desperate for escape. Which led to the flipping her stomach experienced. In whole, her body was hers to feel and someone else's to control.

"I need to wrap this up." His voice was close, so close to her ears but still she couldn't look up. Her head was just so heavy. She leaned it against the bars- focused on the feeling of it between them, of his warm breath ghosting over her ear. The small things kept her ground as he studied the wound, his fingers roaming just over the wound, still not touching it.

"Why are you doing this?" Lyra asked and suddenly the simple question seemed immensely important to her.

She felt him inhale softly and pull her a little closer. He remained silent for so long that she suspected he would never answer.

When he finally did speak, his words had the power to pull the agony of her arm away for a split second. For just a moment, it was like she wasn't in the cell at all.

"Lyra, I'm your brother."

* * *

Mwahahaha- told you guys I had a surprise coming up! What do you think? Let me know, kay?

i-am-naeblis thanks so much. I'm glad you like it!

Cat- you got it! Next chapter :)

Arasa17- Thanks again for the kind words. Reviews like that mean a lot.

RLMz- Several people have requested different POVs so I added a few more. Some will be very soon and some will be scattered throughout the story. hehe


	26. Ashes Remain

_The lighthouse called to the sea, "come home to me"._

 _And it did._

 _And it didn't._

 _That was always the truth of it all._

 _-B Oakman_

* * *

The sun rose early that morning. The color of blood dotted the sky, giving the distinct impression of the unfortunate remains after a battle.

Legolas studied the sunrise with apprehension while he waited for his two companions to catch up. Aragorn, well used to harsh conditions, was faring better than most.

Gimli, on the other hand…Legolas tensed as he heard the tell tale thump that signaled the dwarf had taken a tumble down the hill. _Again_.

It was a good thing dwarves were so sturdy, he noted absentmindedly. Otherwise, he and Aragorn would be down to two.

The trail they followed seemed endless, always just a day ahead of them. It was maddening to say the least. Made worse by the constant and dark thoughts that plagued his mind.

What they could be doing to Lyra, to the hobbits. The images never failed to send a quiver of revulsion straight through his gut. His fingers tightened on the dagger at his side to keep from shaking in rage.

Since the breaking of the Fellowship, there had been a gaping hole within his chest filled with the murky fog of guilt.

Boromir was dead.

Frodo and Sam were gone beyond their reach, each step bringing them closer to a land crawling with orcs and Nazgul.

The other two hobbits and Lyra were captives of evil creatures. All his companions, all his friends.

 _Friends._ It surprised many that an elf of his age didn't have countless close companions. But as a prince, he was constantly reminded of his own distinction.

The combination of both renowned warrior and royalty seemed to keep his subjects at bay.

They respected him of course. Sometimes Legolas thought they respected him a little too much. From an early age, that had settled around his shoulders like a weight. After so many years, that burden just seemed to become part of him, of his position. It just was.

In their eyes, he was _other_. He was _above_.

It wasn't his way to have companions he could confide in, he could rely on. Ever since he was born, he had been under the analyzing scrutiny of an entire kingdom. That didn't bode well for inviting trustworthy confidants.

But there was something different about this journey. The long, painful, stressful, constantly worrying journey.

Or maybe it was just the people he spent the last three months with.

But his thoughts kept coming back to just one. Lyra.

It was concerning.

It was confusing.

It was _annoying_.

He had been trying not to think on that too much, not to dissect the possibility of what lay beneath apart.

He was failing.

So focused on his reveries, he failed to notice the tremors that ran underneath his feet. Aragorn grabbed his arm, already busy hauling Gimli around a crowded gathering of steep rock-face.

Luckily for them, Aragorn's senses were still keen and unencumbered by foreign musings.

They took cover behind the only shelter for miles around just in time. A hundred riders galloped past, the ground beneath them shaking from the force of it all. The heavy smell of horses and men mixed in the air, masking the previously fresh scent of dancing grass.

After a moment of internal debate, Aragorn stood and took a few steps into the clearing.

And waited.

When no one noticed him, he sighed and called out loud enough to be heard over the thunder of hooves, "Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?"

The reaction was instantaneous. The one who had been leading lifted a spear in the air and in one mighty rush, the entire company had turned back towards the three. It was only a matter of seconds before they were surrounded. A faint layer of both aggression and tension draped over everyone from both parties.

Legolas felt his ire rise to unsafe levels when one rider, clearly the captain judging by his armor, pushed his horse through the crowd. Instead of ordering his men to lower their weapons, he fixed them with a hot glare.

"What business does an elf, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?" When they didn't reply, he grew impatient and snapped, "Speak quickly!"

"Give me your name horsemaster and I shall give you mine." Gimli looked self-content at his impudence, but Aragorn seemed to be holding back a sigh with great difficulty.

With sharp movements and narrowed eyes, the man dismounted and came to stand before them. He peered down at Gimli with a barely contained sneer.

"I would cut off your head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Legolas hadn't even realized he had drawn an arrow until it was pointed straight at the man's neck. The entire company stepped forward, their spears ready to throw at him. Strangely enough, Eomer was the only one that remained still.

"You would die before your stroke fell." Legolas muttered, a small part of his mind busy chastising himself mentally. The other part- overwhelmingly one sided- didn't care in the least. It wasn't often that he itched for violence but now seemed to be one of those times. His body was light and heavy at the same time, pressed with a notion that he was supposed to be doing something and wasn't.

Aragorn pushed his hand down, effectively breaking his train of thought.

"We bear you no ill will. We search for our friends only. They were taken captive by a company of orcs days ago." Aragorn said, "Two hobbits and a girl. Half elf."

Eomer's eyes widened slightly at that and seemed to take them in anew.

"You've seen Lyra." Legolas noted, searching his face for omens, either good or bad.

He nodded slowly. "Found her a week ago, near the other side of Fangorn."

"Where is she now? How was she? Is she here?" Gimli shoved himself forward, his voice rising with excitement. In his haste to find the girl, he had begun bouncing up and down in an attempt to see around the tall men that circled him.

"She's in Rohan. She was injured but alive the last time I saw her."

"You think something happened after?" Aragorn asked, picking up on the ghost of hesitation in his voice.

Eomer took a deep breath and shook his head regretfully. "I was banished." Legolas could detect a faint amount of shame coloring his cheeks. "It was only with the help of those loyal to me that I escaped alive. The king- my uncle is not well. It's hard to say what he would do." For the first time, he appeared uncertain, almost apologetic. "As far as the orcs, there was a party west of here. We slaughtered them in the night."

A little of the tension melted from Legolas' shoulders. "One of my men claimed he saw two children run into Fangorn. We thought it was but an illusion of battle."

"The hobbits would look like children to you." Gimli said, the spark of hope lighting up his eyes.

Eomer mounted again and nodded to his men. Everything had been said and yet Legolas felt more lost than ever. "Look for your friends but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands." Eomer warned in farewell.

It took but a moment for the company to gallop away and they were alone again with only Eomer's parting words ringing inside his head, cold and bittersweet.

He could feel the two paths, each with sharp hooks pulling them apart, ripping each companion one way and then the other.

Lyra.

Merry and Pippin.

The forest waited for them to decide, eternally patient and enduring.

In that moment, Legolas hated it.

"Perhaps we should split up. You two follow the hobbit's trail and I will go to Rohan." He finally dared to say when the only sound had been the hurried rustle of wind carrying over the plains.

"How Legolas? We have no horses. Even for you, it would take days." Aragorn said, fists clenched, all jittery nerves.

"What do you suggest? We leave her to her fate, whatever that might be?" He hadn't meant to snarl but that's how it came out regardless.

"You're not the only one who cares for Lyra. Remember that." Aragorn reminded him dryly.

Ashamed, he glanced away, unable to hold the eyes of the ranger any longer. There were shadowy circles and deep lines on his face that hadn't been there before, telltale signs of his fatigue.

He wasn't being fair, he knew. Aragorn had known the girl most of her life. He was as much a brother to her as Elrohir or Elladan.

On the other hand, he had only known her since their meeting near Rivendell. She shouldn't be consuming his thoughts, tarnishing the little common sense he had left.

Gimli interrupted, resigned. "We need to stay together lad. Lyra's among men now. We can only hope they have no ill will towards her. But the hobbits-" he glanced towards the dimness of Fangorn- "who knows what foes they face in there?"

At his words, the woods seemed to creak and groan from the abysmal darkness within. The noise caused Gimli's shoulders to bow as he aimed a glare towards the tress themselves, as if they had done him a great disservice.

Aragorn attempted to rub the knots from his neck. He surveyed the forest like he would an opponent, searching for weaknesses and signs of aggression.

But Legolas wasn't tired. Nor was he nervous of the forest. An elf of his strength could run for days.

This was something else- a sort of panic that drained him of energy. The world around him was just a little too bright and loud. His breath was too often stuck in his chest, his throat blocked by an invisible force.

He was outside himself, looking down from the sky.

Searching. Lost. Roaming.

He should have reached them in time. Shouldn't have let her wander off alone.

Insistent regrets that repeated in his head over and over.

The past and the future weaved a complicated web, leaving him effectively stuck in the even more unclear present.

Foolish girl. She should never have left Rivendell. Her father should never have let her. For the hundredth time, he wondered what Lord Elrond had been thinking. Maybe they were all fools. Or maybe the world was just cruel. Fate was a brutal mistress.

Despite a pain embedded firmly inside his chest and a feeling of wrongness that went deep beyond his bones, Legolas stepped inside Fangorn.

* * *

Ugh, this chapter was really difficult and annoying for me. It just didn't flow at all and everything I did felt forced. Legolas is a bit more difficult than Lyra. Not what he thinks exactly but how much of it to show. I'm still not content with it but I'm ready to be done and move on. I had to change a bit from the original story to fit my needs, but hey that's what's so awesome about fanfic.

Laradith- You always have the BEST compliments. Thanks so much! They keep me encouraged with the story. A few people mentioned poor Lyra always being hurt. I promise things will look up soon haha :)

RLMz- Not for long. I love Lyra and I can't have her in pain for too long lol. But I do love angst...heehee

Woman of Letters- I'm glad you like it! Thanks so much for leaving me a review.

Cat- You shall see soon. Patience young grasshopper haha. Slowly, I will shed some light on their pasts. I promise!

aileen-ankley Thanks! Here you go; I hope you like it.

Arasa17- Caught on did you? haha I'm glad! I never mind advice, especially when it's useful like yours. Don't worry. Linus will be important but the main focal point of the story is between Legolas and Lyra. Sorry about your arm. Ugh, stuff like that gets me woozy but for some reason I enjoy writing about it...go figure.

debatable-cerealkiller Don't you just love cliff hangers haha?


	27. The Secrets We Keep

_My demons, thought quiet, are never quite silenced. Calm as they may be, they wait patiently for a reason to wake, take an overdue breath, and crawl back to my ear._ **–** **Imani**

* * *

 _"I'm your brother."_

At the whispered confession, Lyra's head shot up fast enough to make the room spin. Seconds passed with bated breath as the world lazily righted itself again, inch by swirling inch. Then Lyra saw him and she knew.

It was impossible to deny. There, across a dirty and dank cell, holding her bloodied and broken arm like it was fragile glass, stood her twin.

Her own green eyes stared back, the irises laced with dark blue, swirls of deep ocean trapped within a forest.

He was taller than her, but then again, nearly everyone was.

Unlike her hair, his was dark- almost black. In the moonlight, it seemed to melt into the cell around him, making Linus appear as a half faded ghost. Smooth and glossy, it fell past his shoulders, the edges turning a sullen red. But both had the same stubborn wavy consistency that always looked a bit messy and unruly.

His skin, just barely darker than hers, was still pale compared to any human.

It was like looking through a broken mirror in which everything you were accustomed to had been turned upside down. She felt her mind go suspiciously numb with the shock of realization.

Then he smiled, revealing familiar dimples, breaking the moment and freeing Lyra to breathe once again.

"You look like you've seen a Nazgul." He remarked with that strange mixture of familiar and foreign.

"I just never expected to have a brother." She heard herself reply, the sound of her voice seemingly miles away.

"You mean you never expected a wizard was your father."

"That too." She said, words coming easier.

"Take a deep breath." He warned, gently tugging her closer.

"Why?" The question was torn from her lips when he wrapped his shirt around her arm. She felt the bones shift and heard the wet squish of veins and tendons. If not for Linus' arms holding her up, she would have dropped to the floor. But he was quick and his fingers were sure as they finished binding her wound.

After he was done, Lyra slowly sunk against the bars behind her and felt him do the same, albeit his actions a bit more controlled than hers. She had a thousand questions but none of them could find their way from her mind past her lips.

"Lyra, I can't imagine what you went through there." His voice was almost as dark as the room around them.

She blinked slowly, heavy. "Yes you can." She admitted. "You're probably the only person who can."

"True." He grunted and glanced out the window. The moon had escaped from its cloud prison and bathed the cells in a misty light.

"How did you get away?" She asked, turning her head to the side so he could hear her voice, afraid that anything over a whisper would shatter the stillness.

"Our father was gone. I managed to kill an orc, steal his weapon. I made my way out at night." She felt him shift behind her. "Still, it looks like we just traded one cage for another."

"They'll help us. Eomer will get us out when he finds out what that worm's done." She didn't believe that of course but things were different now. Wasn't it her responsibility to help her own blood?

To encourage her brother? Even if it was with a lie.

"You didn't see what he did to the king. If Eomer wants to stay alive, he'll stay away."

Silence descended until Lyra found herself talking without meaning to. "I wish I had met you before. I wish I could have known you for longer." It was all so strange. Even though she had a family back in Rivendell, people whose love she was tied to, this was herself in another form. Knowing that Saruman's blood flowed in her veins had caused her to feel deeply dirty.

Tainted.

Spoiled.

It was only with the greatest restraint that she resisted the urge to reach down and scratch out her own skin.

But Linus…he hadn't had a choice either. He gave her hope and she didn't need anyone to tell her how dangerous that could be.

"Giving up already? You've been through worse than this haven't you?" Although his tone was teasing, there was something searching beneath it too.

"Not that I can think of." Her lips rose in a weak smirk.

"I have, which is why I know you can too." His fingers ran over her uninjured arm in soothing brushes of skin against skin.

Lyra wanted to ask him about that but the darkness was circling her in soft tendrils, tempting her eyes to close just a little more.

"Can I go to sleep?" She heard her voice echo against the walls and fall to the floor below.

"Of course." Linus gave a small huff of laughter.

"You won't go away will you?" She asked, fighting off the suffocating atmosphere that was rapidly descending on her.

In reply, she felt his fingers lace through her. Even after she had fallen asleep, he never let go.

* * *

Lyra drifted in and out, never quite sure if she was awake or dreaming.

She tried telling herself it was better to die here among humans rather than around orcs.

Or worse- her father.

But really, she felt little difference. Wherever she went, the outcome remained the same. Maybe Lord Elrond had been right after all. Maybe the world was just too big and she had been foolish for thinking she might conquer it.

She wasn't sure when the dark thoughts had crawled inside her head again. Only now, they didn't feel dark. They were just there, fluttering within her grasp. Harmless and translucent. Tantalizing in its simplicity.

The door opened and into the void several feet scurried on the dusty stairs. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus but all she could glimpse were rough outlines. Blurry shapes that towered over her.

A small whine escaped her lips.

Orcs- taking her back to Saruman, back to the Eye.

No. She wasn't in Orthanc anymore. _Where was she?_

Perhaps it had all been a dream and her brothers and Arwen were coming to wake her. Maybe it was her father. Elrond.

No, that wasn't quite right either.

Thoughts of her father filled her chest with more pain. Why did everything hurt so much?

The shapes were repeating something, a name. Her name.

The orcs never used her name; she tried to focus again. Once more. And then she could go back to sleep. The darkness beckoned her more often than not now. Though the room was dim, there was enough moonlight to illuminate the figures before her. It took several seconds for her eyes to clear, the pupils dilating in the sudden firelight.

"No." She gasped as she recognized the three faces peering down at her.

"What? Not happy to see us lass?" Gimli asked. He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes and she knew why.

"You all died too? I'm sorry. It's all my fault." Feeling returned to her body as sharp pain cut through her. The words escaped as broken sobs. She felt them pull at her chest, taking little pieces of her with them.

"She's delirious with fever." A cool hand touched her forehead, taking away some of the buzzing that filled her mind. Blue eyes. She knew those eyes. Legolas.

Right now, they were filled with something she had never seen before. Two blue crystals bobbed and danced together and bled into the darkness until she was forced to shut her own eyes tightly to keep her stomach from plummeting.

"Let's get her out of here." The chill of the floor disappeared underneath her. Instead, she felt herself pressed against something solid and warm. It was only then she grasped how badly she was shaking, as uncontrollable tremors swept through her body. Her teeth chattered together from its insistence.

A constant beat echoed against her ear. Soothing. She buried her face into his chest and inhaled deeply. The scent was comforting; it didn't smell like death. It smelled like home, like safety. Maybe she could stay here and hide from the shadows.

"Try to let go now little one.", a dim voice encouraged. She blinked to realize her hand was balled in the soft fabric of a familiar green cloak. Fingers brushed hers, softly. Impossibly gentle. For some reason, she wanted to cry at that. Legolas laid her down but didn't fully release her.

"I'm sorry. So sorry." She opened her eyes at the chanting only to realize it was her own voice, a cracked echo.

"Lyra, don't talk." Aragorn knelt beside her, his fingers on her side, pulling her tattered shirt up. His hands brushed the side of her ribs and she gasped at the pain.

"Forgive me." He soothed, taking a cloth and dipping it in a bowl of clear, steaming liquid. She didn't know what he had to be sorry about. She was the one who had killed him. "You're in bad shape." Her whole body had remained in a constant state of agony until the pain had become almost normal. But she couldn't help the cry that escaped her lips when he pressed his hands against her side firmly. "Just bruised. No breaks."

Why did it hurt so badly? Wasn't death supposed to be peaceful?

Legolas took the wrist that she cradled against her chest. She didn't even try to resist. Her entire body was filled with sand, weighed down against him, until she felt the floor might reach out and envelop her.

"Broken finger." She shivered from the tone of his voice. Was he angry with her? How could he not be?

"I'm sorry." She said again. His eyes flashed to hers and lost some of their hardness.

"It's not your fault Lyra. You'll be fine." He insisted, trying to smile and not succeeding very well.

"I need to set the arm." Aragorn warned, shattering her short-lived peace. "It won't be quick." He informed the other two before wiping sweat away that had plastered curling hair against his forehead.

She cocked her head at him, confused. "It doesn't matter." Why was he trying to fix her? There was no point anymore.

"Put this between your teeth." Legolas offered her a piece of tough leather and held her shoulders firm. She took it in her mouth and sighed against the smokey taste.

She felt her body twitch when Aragorn's fingers brushed over her shattered arm.

When he began to move it, she twisted wildly against the agony. Even with her desperate strength, Legolas was stronger than her and held her fixed in place, able only to scream against the leather. Meanwhile, Gimli kept her legs on the floor, more laying on top of them than anything else. Her bone disappeared under the torn skin and a thick stream of blood flowed out.

Aragorn tried to be gentle but his hands were uncompromising bands of steel on her arms. "Hold her still." He barked.

Gimli, clearly out of breath, rasped, "Just stay quiet girlie. It'll be over soon."

And then, when she thought she might not be able to withstand anymore, Legolas' words near her ear took away a little of the pain. The heat from his breath and the sound of elvish seeped into her blood.

But the pressure inside her head didn't lessen. It only got worse.

"It's my fault." She sobbed. "The Eye found me. He killed you all because of what I knew." The words were coming faster and faster in a desperate confession.

"Breathe, Lyra." Legolas' finger brushed a strand of bloodied and tangled hair from her face. His eyes met hers, holding her attention without touch.

"Saruman fed you lies. Now-" he took a deep breath- "I want you to listen to my voice. Breathe like me." He tucked her against him and laid one hand below her neck. She shivered at the contact but he didn't give her time to consider it. His chest was warm and strong on her back and she melted into him, her head lolling on his shoulder. His voice was close to her ear, his breath on her neck seemed to warm some of the chill that had gripped her for the past week.

"Good girl." She felt his chest vibrate. "Much better."

The sensation of drowning on land had faded, until it resembled nothing more than a dull painful throb behind her throat.

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, sleep took her gently.

She fought against it as long as she was able, afraid that when the night broke, her friends would disappear along with it. But all too quickly, the waves of pain and exhaustion overcame her senses and she fell away into the void.

* * *

Deep snores echoed in the room, continuing to drum even after Lyra opened her eyes. She hissed as she tried to sit up. The room she found herself in was large and neat in its simplicity. Sunlight streamed in through open windows, the curtains dancing gently in the soft breeze. Other than the bed she found herself tucked into, there was a wash table and several chairs that were arranged haphazardly around her. The smell of crushed herbs tickled her nose.

Her pale skin, now free of dirt instead held ugly bruises and scratches. Her shoulder was heavily bandaged, as was her arm. She sighed as her attempt to move it proved futile. All in all, she suspected she resembled a sheep who was overcome by its fluffy winter coat.

Another snore pulled her attention upwards.

This was real. This was _real._

For a long moment, she could only grin widely at the dwarf, whose head was tilted back, mouth wide open, oblivious to the entire world.

"Gimli." She called quietly. Then louder. "Gimli?" His only response was to wheeze longer if that were possible. Seizing a pillow from the bed, she launched it at his head. He woke at that, sputtering like a fish before his eyes landed on her.

Jumping to his feet and running a hand through his messy beard in a useless attempt to neaten it, Gimli was at her side in a heartbeat. He stared at her with unbridled intensity.

"Hey there lass. How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Better." Was all she could say, too busy drinking in the sight of her friend.

The sound of his voice. The realization that he was here with her.

She wasn't alone anymore. She felt like she could run the entire distance to Mount Doom…as soon as she healed of course.

"You look better." He commented, a smile beginning to take over his face like hers.

"You mean not covered in blood?" She asked, making an attempt at a joke and ignoring that it fell flat around her. After coming so close to death, talking about it felt taboo. But if she didn't, she might go crazy.

He gave a dismissing wave. "Your eyes are clear. And of course you're not going on about us all being dead."

"There is that." Her thoughts were dragged away to Saruman, to the Eye.

"Lyra." His voice pulled her back to the present.

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what you've been through these past weeks. From the state you were in, we just knew it was bad. But if you-" he coughed and stared at his feet, reddening slightly. "If you ever need to talk about things..."

Reaching forward, she seized Gimli into a tight hug, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill. The dwarf froze in surprise at first, but when she refused to let go, he chuckled good naturally and patted her gently on the back.

"I'm not going to let you all out of my sight again." She threatened, pulling away and wiping her eyes.

"We're all together again. It'll stay that way." He promised, the edges of his eyes crinkling from the might of his smile.

"All of us?" she teased. "Even two elves?"

He laughed and sat on the edge of her bed, at ease now that he realized she wouldn't go screaming about things that never happened. He quickly reverted to his favorite past time- complaining to her about Legolas.

"That prince has been a thorn in my side. Constantly stopping in even when it's not his turn."

At her quizzical look, he explained. "We agreed that for your-um health- one of us should be here in case you wake. We've been taking turns but that blasted elf keeps wandering in at all hours of the day and night. Thinks he doesn't need sleep." Gimli muttered, pouring her a glass of water. "I always said he was foolish. You both are."

"Me?" She quirked an eyebrow before taking a long draught of cool water that soothed away some of the coarseness in her voice.

"What were you thinking- trying to take on every orc in Middle Earth? You should have-"

"Should have what Gimli?" She asked. There was no bite in her voice, only weariness but the dwarf seemed to wilt. "They killed Boromir. Took Merry and Pippin."

"But the hobbits are fine."

"What?" She gasped, hardly believing her ears. "You better not be teasing me Gimli." She threatened him.

"Yes- we ran into someone in the woods." He wigged his bushy eyebrows teasingly.

"Who?" She asked, when the dwarf seemed ready to explode from excitement.

Another voice, rough with age, interrupted the two friends. "It's good to see you again Lyra, though I wish it were under more favorable circumstances."

For a moment, Lyra drew back in fear. Saruman was here; he had come to take her again. But there was something off; the eyes were too kind, the smile too genuine. She blinked as the mirage of Saruman faded, leaving a ginning Gandalf in its place.

"Is this a dream?" She asked. The light around the wizard almost glowed white and she could taste his power in the air. Power that hadn't been there previously.

"My dear no." He leaned heavily on his staff, inducing a feeling of dejavu to sweep through her.

He was different.

She was different.

But here they were again, an old wizard shaking his head, almost amused at the young girl. She had been witness to the scene countless times before.

"Good." She sighed. "I'm tired of dreaming of things that haven't happened."

"This is who we met in Fangorn." Gimli explained, hopping up from the bed.

"But the balrog- you fell." It came out more of a question. The wizard shrugged and she gaped in awe. "You killed it?"

"You doubted my skills?" He teased, a small chuckle escaping him as she sputtered to deny it, turning red.

"Of course not. It was just…a rather large Balrog." She answered meekly before shaking the weight of memories from her shoulders. "I'm glad you're safe."

He was saved responding by the entrance of another.

"Aragorn!" Lyra shrieked, her hand grasping at the air before her, demanding a hug without words. Chuckling, the ranger reached down to encase her in a gentle squeeze, mindful of her bandages.

"You gave us quite the scare." He said, before proceeding to ask her a long list of health questions.

 _Did she remember who and where she was?_

It was difficult to say. Rohan, she knew, but as for the time….how many days had passed again? In response to that question, they all seemed to droop a little.

 _Did she remember his name?_

"Of course, didn't I just call you Aragorn?" She demanded, rolling her eyes. He determinedly ignored her sarcasm before plunging forward.

 _Did she hurt anywhere?_

Everywhere, she had replied straight-faced. Aragorn hadn't appreciated that particular jibe. She chose not to mention she hadn't been completely joking.

They talked of other meaningless things for a few moments before Lyra noticed the dark, searching spark behind his eyes. Finally, he gave voice to it. "What happened Lyra?"

Ah, the dreaded hour had approached. For all her daydreaming of meeting her companions again, she had never thought to prepare for the questions that were sure to come.

"They took me to Orthanc. Saruman was there. He-" she broke off, wavering and unable to look anyone in the eye.

"You were muttering in your sleep about seeing the Eye." Gimli added.

She rubbed at her forehead. "I don't really remember. I was delirious, in and out all the time. I just remember snatches." She said, desperately hoping the lie didn't sound as false as she felt.

Luckily, no one pressed her any further. Gandalf regarded her for longer than normal but he shook himself and grinned down at her. "Yes, well for now just focus on getting well Lyra."

A wave of dizzying memory washed over her. "There was an elf in the cell beside me..."

"Linus." Aragorn nodded. "He's fine. Resting- like you should be."

She relaxed at that. "But I've been resting-" she trailed off, before glancing up at Aragorn in what she hoped was an innocent expression. "How long have I been resting exactly?"

"Two days, ya lazy elf." Gimli patted her leg.

Her eyes widened in surprise. Two days? No wonder she felt so sore. She opened her mouth but Aragorn, knowing what she was about to ask, cut her off.

"No Lyra. You may not get out of bed." He rubbed the back of his neck, as if her question had drained his remaining energy.

Resigned to her fate, she sighed and leaned back against the pillows. "I figured."

Lyra was the last one to notice him. She glanced up towards the doorway and there he was. Silent and unmoving, leaning lightly against the wooden frame, a look of such intensity in his eyes that for a second, she suspected something might be wrong.

"Come on in Legolas. Lyra's awakened." Gimli welcomed the elf by giving him a mighty slap on his arm. Although he stumbled forward a bit under the force of it, he didn't even glance down at the dwarf. Or away from her. Her mouth went dry under his intense scrutiny. He was looking for wounds, she assured herself, just checking her wellbeing. Her relief and happiness at finding her friends alive and well melted away, leaving something else in its place. The force of it tied her tongue and left her gaping for words. A thick fuzziness had taken over her thoughts again, so she settled for blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

"I lost my bow." She told him without any preamble. If her confession surprised him, he didn't show it.

He just stared at her. "Of course you did." He remarked in that infuriating way of his that left her feeling she had missed the real meaning behind his words.

"Well?" She raised her chin in a clear challenge. Of what, she wasn't exactly sure.

"You always seem to get yourself in the worst situations, don't you?"

"Are you blaming this on me?" It was all too easy to put a look of indignation on her face.

"Of course not." He began, fists clenching and then releasing. Aragorn and Gandalf shifted uneasily, watching the verbal spar with comical interest.

"Because if you're going to yell at me, I'd rather you waited until I'm feeling completely alive." She goaded even further, before he had a chance to grasp the stability he was clearly striving for.

Lyra knew she was being foolish and unfair. But she hadn't expected the swirl of confusing emotions to hit her when she saw him. And so, she had reverted to her comfortable habit of arguing. Although their meeting had been a previously surrounded by fog in her mind, she found a few images starting to clear. Most notably of the prince holding her close to him. She blushed at the memory.

"I'm not-" he ran his fingers through his hair in an agitated manner before taking a step forward and instead demanding, "Do you have to be so disagreeable all the time?" He asked, folding his arms over his chest and grinding his jaw.

Lyra stilled before turning to peer up at him. To Legolas, it seemed as though her eyes had just splintered into sharp green diamonds. He found he much preferred the forest green they normally reminded him of. "Disagreeable?" she echoed.

"You twist everything I say. Even when I try to apologize, I cannot seem to do that to your satisfaction." The prince glared down at the girl, a sudden flush in her otherwise pale face. With her arm swaddled in bundles of white cloth and her small body surrounded by a cocoon of blankets, she suddenly looked very young.

Her next words only strengthened that observation of his. "Then you should start practicing. I would have thought you'd of been an expert at this point."

"What are you insinuating?" He asked, coking his head to the side as though daring her to continue.

Instead of being deterred by his warning, she plowed ahead with little reserve, "I'm not insinuating anything. I'm saying you're an idiot." For some reason, she felt close to tears now.

Legolas, it seemed didn't know what to say to that; he merely gaped at her. Lyra doubted anyone had ever called the prince an idiot before. His befuddled expression was extremely gratifying.

"Ha." She pointed at him with her good arm. "Proof right there."

"I think you're both acting rather foolish." Gimli interrupted, words slurred by his attempt to both talk and smoke at the same time.

"It's so good to have you back with us." Legolas muttered, loud enough that Lyra heard. If there was any sarcasm in his voice, she was unable to identify it.

Gimli stood and stretched. "You sit with her lad. She seems to have more energy when you're around." He gave Lyra another soft pat on her head. "I'm off to find some food."

Aragorn and Gandalf, suddenly eager to be off, bade her goodbye and promised to visit soon. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at their hurried escape.

Lyra felt smothered by the sudden heavy silence that fell over the two left in the room.

"Your fever broke last night." Legolas finally deigned to say.

"You probably weren't even worried about me." She played with the ends of her hair, feeling all too vulnerable under his eyes.

"Do you really think that?" His voice was both soft and hard at once.

"I don't know." She tried to roll her shoulder and work out a thousand knots that had seemed to appear all at once. "I'm in pain and sick of being stuck in this bed and I'm feeling a little disagreeable."

"Lucky for you, I have an extremely patient and agreeable nature." He said easily, lowering himself to the chair beside her bedside more gracefully than she could have ever managed.

She smirked at that. "Maybe if I could walk around..." She began, her eyes flickering up to gauge his reaction.

"Absolutely not. Aragorn said bed all day. Possibly tomorrow too." He grinned at her slightly horrified expression. "However, if you wish it, I will keep you company."

"Gimli said you've been doing plenty of that already." She teased.

Although something flickered across his face, Legolas merely shrugged. "Typical dwarf. Twisting the truth."

* * *

An hour later found both elves seated across from each other on the bed, several cards grasped tightly in both their hands. Lyra of course had to make do with one hand and had recently resorted to using her teeth.

"You're cheating." She accused him for the tenth time, sending a well aimed glare his way.

And for the tenth time, Legolas sighed. "No. Your expression just gives you away." He had kept his word and remained more patient with her than she deserved. The game, it turned out, ended up becoming more of an ongoing attempt to get a rise from Legolas.

"Drat." Lyra sighed, throwing a card down, her eyes narrowed in useless concentration. After she had suggested playing cards, they had decided to gamble with things found in the room. Legolas' pile was substantially larger than hers and consisted of several candles, a blanket, three shoes, a coat, and two daggers. She groaned and handed him a plant, accidentally spilling a sprinkle of dirt on her bed covers.

"We're running out of things to gamble." She berated him. After all it was his fault. He kept taking everything.

"How about that?" It took her a moment to realize he was staring at the ring on her finger. The one Haldir had given her in Lothlorien.

"You think it'll look prettier on you than me?" When his only reaction was to roll his eyes, she continued, "It won't even fit you." His hands, which held the cards delicately, were much larger than hers. They were warrior's hands, with speckles of faded white scars and callouses.

He glanced down at the pile before him and raised an eyebrow. "When will I use any of this?"

When she refused, his eyes already full of accusation, narrowed further. "Scared?"

She smiled at his attempt of a challenge. "I know you'll win. I don't want to give it up."

She saw a shard of what looked like true annoyance in his eyes. "Haldir is stingy with his gifts and affection. I wouldn't expect anything more in the future." He sniffed, bizarrely reminding Lyra of a dog that had smelled something unfit on the air.

"Are you-are you jealous?" she laughed. It was too preposterous, she knew. But if she didn't know any better…

He scoffed at that, just like she knew he would. But he also looked surprised and a little confused.

"I'm sure Haldir is equally as fond of you." He seemed to relax at her words and just shook his head. She fought back a yawn, trying to hide it behind her hand.

But he noticed. Of course he noticed.

Just like he noticed the lying tells that she swore she didn't have.

"You should get some more rest."

"But it's not even-" she glanced at the window, now dark. "Night." She finished lamely.

"Lost track of time, have you?" He smiled as he stood, busy pulling her blanket tight around her shoulder, careful of her arm. She aimed a glare his way, which he promptly ignored. She hated being tucked in like a helpless child.

A sudden jolt ran through her when his finger traced the outline of her bare collarbone- a trail of goose bumps left in its wake. Leaning over her, his expression cloaked, Legolas straightened to his full height again. It was impossible to know if the touch had been an accident…or if he had even noticed, Lyra thought as she looked up at him, frozen.

Immediately, she pushed the silly notion from her mind. What did it matter anyway? She buried herself further into the blankets. If she was thinking those kind of thoughts, she knew it was definitely time for her to rest.

"Legolas." She heard herself say. He paused by the door and half turned, his blue eyes almost glowing in the darkness. "Thanks." She finally decided on. Throughout the entire day, her thoughts had never once strayed to the dark things that happened. His presence, though at times troublesome and confusing, was a balm to her frayed nerves.

He blinked once and gave her a slow nod. "Good night." The door closed with a soft click, leaving her in darkness once again.

Even after she relaxed into the mountain of soft fur blankets beneath her, his dark male scent still lingered in the air. Wisps of moonlight played on her face, soothing her to sleep, a smile fixed on her lips.

* * *

Whew, this was a long one guys. But finally we have the reunion! Lyra can now heal and relax a little before I send her back into the fray!

I hope everyone had an awesome Halloween. And as always, reviews are much appreciated!


	28. What Few Have Seen

_"_ _But I nearly forgot. You must close your eyes. Otherwise, you won't see anything." -_ **Lewis Carroll**

* * *

Legolas was looking for her without meaning to. Again.

It had become an annoying, insufferable habit. At least for him.

The object of his attention never seemed to notice. He wondered how long it would take Lyra to realize if he held an arrow to a bowstring and pointed it in her general direction. The thought wasn't as amusing as it used to be.

Back when he _thought_ he knew who she was.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. Something different. Someone different.

Maybe that was the problem. He couldn't fit her into the shapes of others he was familiar with, couldn't see her like he saw them. It was frustrating, to say the least.

She was just so…strange. Strange in the way she reacted to him, and he was forced to admit- strange in her own right.

It was clear she admired his skills. He was used to that.

She often teased him and made jokes at his expense. He was less use to that.

And then there were times she would yell at him, her clear purpose to annoy and infuriate him. That he was not used to at all.

But there were other thing too- too dark and deep for him to fathom. Things that had created a swirl of confusion within the prince that left him struggling to sleep long after darkness fell. He wondered when his simple life had become such a bewildering mess.

It was normal to feel protective of one so young and innocent, he told himself again and again. Though Lyra had developed some skills in warfare, she was woefully unprepared for the bloodshed.

Or what came after- especially what came after.

She was an enigma, a mixture of steel and fragile glass. Untouchable and then at other times, so easily shattered.

And even worse, she inspired him to act like a child in return- undignified and certainly not like the mighty warrior he was renowned as. He had begun to suspect the girl didn't fear him at all.

"Don't think I'm gonna start calling you all lords when we get back. That's never going to happen." Lyra's words, a dismally cloaked challenge, pulled him back to the present.

"I am a prince right now." Legolas reminded her dryly.

"And the throne of Gondor belongs to Aragorn." Gimli, who had been busy smoking a pipe, added. "Besides I am quite high born by dwarf standards." He let out a ring of smoke that fluttered skywards before evaporating. "And you no doubt will marry some rich lord and be a true lady."

Legolas' eyes flickered to the dwarf, his smooth brow creasing in a frown.

"She's too young for that." He insisted, scoffing at the notion in his mind.

Lyra- bonded, married, mated? They were all equally irritating and suspicious.

She is a nuisance; he reminds himself- constantly tripping over things and pulling his attention away.

Her husband would have to be eternally long suffering.

And of course, since she has no skill in cooking, her husband would have to do that as well- or eat burnt food for eternity.

And for such a small thing, she gets in trouble quite a lot. A mate would have to protect her from everything in the world that would do her harm.

And the male in her life would have to endure her relentless teasing and mood changes. Although he knew other females who were prone to similar behavior, he was sure Lyra existed on an entirely different level.

Satisfied that no such person existed, Legolas allowed himself to relax. He wasn't exactly sure why the notion disturbed him, but he graciously decided not to question it. With some people, there was little sense to be made.

"Bonding is an important decision- perhaps the most important…or so I hear." Lyra's pondering voice tugged him back. "Some elves wait thousands of years for it. Besides, I have no wish to be settled down at such a young age."

"I feel sorry for the one who is destined to be your mate. No doubt he will suffer much." Legolas couldn't help but add. Her face puckered in reply, a look he had learned to recognize quite well by now. She was amused and trying to hide it. Finally, her delight won out, as it usually did, and she laughed.

* * *

After their endless game of cards, Lyra had slept for another dozen hours. He had been relieved- she still tired too easily and her stubbornness demanded she fight it for as long as possible.

But then, she had awoken and quite firmly demanded to be taken outside. He, Gimli, and Aragorn had rejected this at first, given courage by their supposed united front.

And then something terrible happened.

Lyra, like countless females before her had quickly deduced he and his two companions' weakness and used it against them. Of course, there were not many males alive that were able to withstand the all too large watery eyes of a female. Not for the first time, he wondered if there was some sort of spell in her blood.

Eager to avoid any potential tears, they had grudgingly allowed her admittance into the small patio outside her rooms. After crawling from her bed, the girl had attempted to walk but after watching her struggle to stand on shaky legs, Legolas had automatically scooped her up without thought.

For a long moment, they had just stared at each other in equal surprise until Lyra had broken the silence by commanding him not to treat her like a child or an invalid.

It was only with the greatest restraint that he resisting informing Lyra that she was both those things.

The punishment she awarded him was a stream of constant chatter close to his ear, her voice just a little too loud. Being half elf herself, she knew the volume would make his sensitive ears wince.

Sighing, like he was now often prone to, he set her down, his fingers lightly brushing over her leg.

She had frozen then and gaped up at him. Her body had stilled at the touch, but he could almost hear her heartbeat increase and her mind race ahead. A brief mental image of a bristling cat flashed across his eyes. In reply, he had only raised an eyebrow- silently daring her to say something. After turning a delicate shade of red and grumbling under her breath, she had determined to promptly ignore his presence.

Soon after, Gimli had captured her attention with tales from their battle, demonstrating kills that sounded far more spectacular than Legolas had witnessed in person.

Absentmindedly, he studied Lyra while she in turn studied Gimli, clearly fascinated by the way he hacked at the air with his axe.

He thinks repulsed would be a better emotion, but she is strangely fond of the dwarf. In times like these, he cannot help but question her mental state.

"And then with my mighty sword, I decapitated him just like that." Gimli roared, jumping across the patio to impale the air.

She laughs more than any other person he knows, which is surprising given her life recently.

Maybe it's just the way she sees the world.

Like she is experiencing everything for the first time.

But lately, there is something… the outline of a mask about her face. Because she is not practiced at hiding herself, it does her no good. But he lets her think she has them fooled. They all do.

Because he does not like to think, like to imagine, what happened to her behind the walls of Orthanc. He does not like to close his eyes and see her alone. He wonders if she hurts this much.

War, he understands. The wounds and blood and screams and terror. Even the loss.

This he does not understand. He's not sure if he wants to.

* * *

Hello readers! So, this is a short one- just a brief Legolas POV. He tends to give me trouble so I tend to limit his chapters! Soon, the excitement will start up again, yyeeeaaahhhh.

Guess what? We are now over 100 reviews! That is so awesome. Just want to say a thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. This is actually the first piece of writing I've ever really let other people read and when I was first posting, I was absolutely terrified that no one would like it or everyone would hate it. You guys have proven me wrong and for that, I'm super grateful! It can still be hard posting when I feel unsatisfied with a chapter, but you guys have kept me encouraged throughout.


	29. Pieced Back Together

" _Having perfected our disguise, we spend our lives searching for someone we don't fool."_ _ **—**_ **Robert Brault**

* * *

Lyra was feeling better. Much, much better. Strange what good meals, a soft bed, and the absence of sudden death did for one's mental and physical health.

Although Rohan boasted several capable healers, Aragorn had jealously taken over that role for himself. He insisted on changing her bandages five times a day as well as pouring- what Lyra suspected- was the nastiest, most bitter tea one could find, down her throat. Her face scrunched up in distaste never failed to amuse him. Still, his persistently annoying attentiveness paid off. Her body had recovered from both the fever and the infection in her arm and shoulder, leaving pink freshly stitched flesh behind.

Gimli kept her up to date on any meetings or councils they regularly attended and Legolas assumed the responsibility of keeping her entertained. Initially that had meant games and endless stories. As he regaled her with tales of his homeland, she noted the prince did not like to sit still. It was almost impossible for his body to be completely at ease. Usually, he would twirl sharp daggers through his fingers with the ease that spoke of lifetimes of use. In the end, she had paid more attention to the nimble way he comfortably tossed the blade back and forth. She had tensed in the beginning, waiting for the blood, the yelp of pain. But it never came.

It was like they actually liked fussing over her. As the youngest member of the Fellowship, she had worried about being a burden to the others ever since they departed from Rivendell. So, being treated like she was fragile glass annoyed her to no end. It was only with the knowledge that Gimli, Aragorn, and Legolas enjoyed it so much that she was able to keep her complaining to a minimum.

But now, she faced the problem of mind numbing boredom. When Gandalf had mentioned she might be strong enough to walk about, her other three companions had quickly berated the wizard for his thoughtfulness. It had been amusing to see the powerful White Wizard leaning on his staff and hobbling out of the room, grumbling under his breath about overprotective fools.

It was on a late afternoon two days after being reunited that Lyra found herself alone for the first time. A council had been called and all her companions had been deemed essential to advise the king.

 _Except for me_ , her mind grumbled.

Which was how Lyra found herself sneaking out from her room without the pressure of watchful eyes on her back. Although her friends had not yet met Linus, they had assured her the previous prisoner had been cared for. She didn't ask again for fear they would suspect something out of place.

It was a blessing really, that she hadn't had to cross that bridge yet. Any excuses she came up with sounded fake and forced even to her own ears. She knew she would have to explain him eventually but coming up with a lie that even remotely resembled the truth was like grasping at billows of smoke with her hands.

Glancing around, she shut the door to her bedroom behind her and walked down the hallway, giving smiles to the maids and scattered soldiers she passed. A few gave her curious looks but no one made a move to question her.

The urge to giggle at her gratifying success was immediately cut off when she turned a sharp corner and ran straight into a tall figure. The apology that had built on the tip of her tongue fell away.

"Linus! What are you doing here?" She asked in surprise, grinning up at her brother.

"Taking a walk." He replied, like it was the most obvious thing. Maybe because it was, she realized, reddening.

"But- I mean- well, I was actually just coming to find you." She stuttered, before settling on one thought. Now that she was no longer in a shadowy dungeon or half delirious, the similarities between the two were even more pronounced. Although he had been in the cells, Linus looked strong and healthy, with a newly sun kissed glow to his skin. His gem green eyes glimmered in the sunlight, a sharp contrast against his dark hair.

And at that moment, those eyes were raised in mock hurt. "Really? Haven't forgotten about me?"

Ignoring his jibe, she asked, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not the one whose bone was snapped like a twig." He said, taking her bandaged arm and running his finger over it, barely touching. When he deemed it acceptable, he released her with a nod.

"Your friend is a talented healer." He didn't say it as a compliment, merely stating an obvious fact.

"He is…I'd like you to meet them. It's just-" She trailed off, searching for a delicate way to say what was on her mind.

"Just what?" He cocked his head to the side; she fought a laugh at the movement. How many times had she herself done that? Her amusement was broken when she heard the familiar pattern of footsteps behind them.

"What are you doin out missy?" A gruff voice behind her demanded, shattering her train of thought. Lyra whirled to find herself face to face with Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn- all marching towards the pair purposefully and none looking too happy.

"Just not yet." She muttered under her breath.

"Lyra, who-who is this?" It was almost comical to see her friends' widened eyes flit back and forth between her and Linus, taking in all the undeniable similarities.

"He was in the cell next to me." She answered weakly.

"Yes, but- how do you two- how is he- you both look-" The dwarf's beard wagged back and forth as he struggled for coherence.

"Words Gimli." She sighed.

"How do you two know each other?" Aragorn clarified, finding his voice.

"We only met in the cells." She said quickly, chancing a glance at Linus. For once, his attention was not on her. Rather he was busy studying her friends in a very critical manner.

"But you're obviously related. I mean look at you both." Gimli exclaimed, waving his arms to encompass what Lyra guessed was all of her and Linus. "What an amazing coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"Who are your parents?" Legolas asked, his keen blue eyes examining Linus' features.

"Linus never knew them either." Lyra cut in before her brother had the chance to answer. "We'll probably never find out." She said a little sadly with a shrug of her shoulders.

If her brother was shocked at her lie, he didn't show it anymore than when his eyes flickered over her in a newly appraising way. "Yes well, at least I have you now." He said, taking a step towards her.

"Another elf." Gimli grumbled but he clapped Linus on the arm, as high as he could reach. "Nice to meet you there, laddie."

Ignoring Gimli, he turned to her. "I wasn't aware you knew many dwarves."

Before she could reply, Gimli interrupted "Nah, she's not that lucky. But one day, she'll come to Erebor and meet more than any elf before her. We have plans, the two of us. Three of us now I suppose." He said, trying to decide if that was good or bad.

"I don't think it's wise for my sister to go off cavorting with dwarves." He said in an almost sneer, looking down, making the differences in height even more apparent.

"Linus, Gimli is my friend. I trust him. And I wouldn't be cavorting." She hissed more quietly, a blush staining her cheek.

"Forgive me. It's hard to think about you leaving when we've just found each other."

She nodded a little uncertainly, accepting his apology, and noticing how his shoulders bowed and relaxed.

"Excuse me. I'm still weary after our ordeal." He gave her 3 friends a nod before walking away.

"I'll visit you later." Lyra called after him, feeling crestfallen. Still, she reasoned, it could have been worse.

"Seems a bit overprotective for someone you've just met." Gimli remarked when he was out of sight. "And by our standards, that's really….something."

"I don't know anything about him really. But he helped me in the dungeons. He's been through a lot." She replied without thought, still staring the way he'd gone.

"Like what?" Legolas was quick to ask, his keen gaze entrapping her again.

"Er, personal things. He didn't tell me everything." She scowled at him. He remained nonplussed and merely raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'd hate to be there when Elrohir and Elladan meet him. It'll be like dogs fighting off a scrap of meat." Aragorn noted, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He looked positively amused at the thought of the twins irritating someone other than him.

"And I suppose I'm the meat?" She arched an eyebrow.

"You know how protective they are." He shrugged, as if that explained it all.

Lyra seemed to deflate at that. "Yeah." She grunted. "Fun."

"Gandalf wants to speak with you." Legolas said, when Aragorn and Gimli went off in search of food. Honestly, she had no idea where the dwarf put it all. For his short stature, he easily ate triple what Lyra did.

"Huh?"

He smirked at her blank expression. "Gandalf- you remember him- White Wizard? He would like to speak with you."

"Very funny, but I find sarcasm doesn't suit you my friend." She wagged a finger at him, like one would to a child.

"I'll walk you there." He offered instead of rising to the bait like she had expected.

"Afraid I'll get in trouble?" She teased, forcing herself to relax.

"We both know you'll get lost." He gave her a disapproving look, as though her horrid sense of direction offended him personally.

Unable to deny it, she started walking, her nose in the air. "Aren't you coming?" she asked.

Giving her a strange look, he shrugged and followed after her. Just as she suspected, with the new development, he could only stand the silence for a moment.

"Is it strange?" He asked suddenly, not bothering to look at her.

"What?" Her voice echoed among the empty halls.

"Having a brother."

"I already have two." She answered, but it was more reflex than anything. In truth, she didn't enjoy close examination on the strangeness her family had become.

"You know what I mean." She could tell he was fighting rolling his eyes.

"I don't know. A little, maybe. He's nice…I think. I mean, I've only talked to him twice." She stumbled over her thoughts in a clumsy way.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to get to know him." He reasoned, slowing his footsteps to match hers.

"That's true." She sighed, taking stock of their surroundings for the first time.

Legolas it seemed had quickly mastered the maze of hallways and corridors. She followed closely behind, letting out a happy exhale at the feeling of sunlight on her face and the tickle of the wind as it played with her hair.

Their footsteps slowed and finally stopped as they reached the end of a corridor; Lyra could hear voices but they seemed from very far away- tinkling laughter and raised men's voices, calling to one another.

"We're here." He announced, his back to her, hands frozen on the door handle.

When he remained that way, she peered around him and asked, "Is it stuck?"

"You know you can trust us right?"

"Huh?" She studied him, wary of his sudden change. His back was rigid, the hard muscles locked in place, whether preventing himself from moving forward or her, she didn't know.

"You can tell us the truth and we would never hate you, never hold it against you. You can trust us." When he finally looked around at her, she blinked and glanced away, unable to hold his intense gaze.

"I know that. Of course." She muttered, feeling his words hit too close to the mark.

He gave her a small smile that never reached his eyes. "Good." He said and opened the doors. She peered in before stepping inside. Gandalf sat in one of two chairs, muttering to himself and studying the wall like it held secrets. The room was messier than she imagined his chamber would be- with weapons and clothing strewn about, like he had tossed them about carelessly.

Legolas coughed, breaking the wizard's concentration. He welcomed them both with a smile. "Good to see you up and about my dear."

"It's good to be up." She said, aiming a little glare in the direction of the elf that had kept her in bed for days.

"Private, if you please Legolas." But the demand was soft and almost apologetic.

The prince gave a long suffering sigh. "Fine." He agreed, giving Lyra one last looked before shutting the door behind him with a click.

"How are you feeling?" Gandalf asked, turning his full attention on her once they were alone.

"You want to talk about my health?" She asked sarcastically, strolling about the room, picking up little trinkets to inspect.

"No, but I thought it would be acceptable small talk."

"What's wrong Gandalf?" She asked, taking her place in the chair across from him and peering up at the wizard. He seemed taller and more broad than the Gandalf she had known her whole life, but the invisible weight that bowed his shoulders had not disappeared.

"Lyra, anything you can tell us would be helpful. I understand you don't want to relive the ordeal but I'm afraid I must push you."

"He just wanted to know about the Ring." She tried to keep the impatience from her voice. If they never stopped asking her, she would never be able to forget or pretend it didn't happen. Something she desperately wanted.

"It's strange that he would separate you and the hobbits."

"I think they were afraid I would die before we arrived." She quickly answered. _At least, there's one truth there,_ she thought.

A deep silence filled the space between them. Lyra, torn between the desperation of guarding her secret and the urge to spill her guts, remained silent. When she couldn't take it anymore, she asked, "Does it really matter, Gandalf?"

He considered her for a while. "Only you know that." When her hands began to tremble, he sighed. "I don't mean to upset you."

"I know that. I'm sorry I'm not much help. But like I said, I don't remember much." She wrestled her features into one of honesty, even though every bone in her body screamed, _Lira, liar, liar_.

Luckily for her, Gandalf allowed that subject to drop before moving on to another, only slightly less frightening. "Now, shall we talk about the other issue?"

"What issue?" She asked with some hesitance.

"Legolas told me what happened in the mines." He explained, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"Oh." She stiffened immediately as images of orcs killed without touch came to mind, "He's afraid of it."

"I don't think that's the case seeing he hastened to add that you saved his life with it. He knows that it scares _you_ Lyra." He told her, almost gently.

"Of course I'm scared of it! I don't even know what it is. What if I can't control it?" she demanded, her voice rising. She gripped the arm of her chair until her fingers turned white. "It didn't help me when I needed it to. It's just there to cause me pain. To remind me…" she broke off, her face pale.

"Which is why I'm here to offer my humble assistance."

"What?" She asked, her thoughts muddled and hazy.

"If there is any being in Middle Earth able to help you, I'd like to think I would be an obvious choice."

"But, what if I hurt you?" she asked, biting her lip.

"My dear, you think too highly of yourself." He looked amused despite the gravity she was feeling.

"But we don't know anything about it." She protested; even if he found it ridiculous, the fear of _whatever it was_ seized Lyra in a very real way.

"Which is why we must learn." He took out his pipe and tapped it against his knee. "I find it fascinating. Almost like a wizard's power but of course, that's not possible."

Lyra glanced away, keeping her face blank despite the fact her heart had adopted a furious beat inside her chest.

Mumbling to himself, he blinked, conjuring up a flame to light his pipe weed.

It was a true testament to how distracted he was that he didn't realize he was already smoking, blowing rings of smoke while trying to lit the pipe again. She imagined black ash exploding onto the wizard's face and fought back a giggle.

Distracted by her sound, his eyes found her again, almost in surprise like he had expected her to suddenly vanish.

"I'm glad we have that settled. As soon as your arm heals, we will delve into this curiosity."

"I'm glad you're so eager." She grumbled, "Although I have to admit, it's better you than…. anyone else." She finished lamely.

He just nodded. Meanwhile Lyra was busy mentally berating herself. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How could she keep such a secret when she couldn't even keep her mouth closed?

A flicker of pain radiated in the wizard's eyes before it was swept away. "You know, Saruman was not always as he is now. He was once my friend, a good friend."

"What does that matter to me?" She asked, fighting to keep her hands from trembling.

"You were his victim. Isn't it your right to know?"

"Do you- do you think it was something inevitable inside him?" Lyra hastened to add, "I mean he was your friend. How does someone fall that far?"

"Our choices make us Lyra. Nothing more and nothing less. Remember that." His eyes were so full of understanding that Lyra found herself standing suddenly and mumbling an excuse. She disappeared out the door and quickly walked away. The warm sunlight that she had relished in only minutes before now felt like a burning brand against her pale skin.

As she wandered, Lyra couldn't help the sinking feeling that perhaps Gandalf had seen more than she wanted him to.

* * *

Hey, it's Thanksgiving! HAPPY THANKSGIVING! I hope everyone has a great time with family or friends or doing whatever you decide to. Not too much happens in this chapter but there'll be some excitement soon…ish.

DivinityV2- I had loved reading your comments chapter by chapter haha. Wondering when you were gonna catch up! :) I'm so glad you like the story so far.


	30. The World Ahead

_Look at your children_

 _See their faces in golden rays_

 _Don't kid yourself they belong to you_

 _They're the start of a coming race._

 _ **Oh You Pretty Things- David Bowie**_

* * *

Linus had effectively shattered the silence with a single word. "So?"

"So what?" Lyra echoed, inhaling the night breeze and giving a delighted shiver. The wind that came down to Rohan traveled from the mountains that kept the small city nestled. It held the contradicting but intoxicating scent of frozen rivers and spring grass.

"Care to explain why you're keeping secrets from your so called friends?" He prompted, his eyes finding hers in the dim candlelight.

She rolled her shoulder and tried to ease away the weight that had flooded deep into her muscles. Although most of the city was asleep, Lyra had found her way to Linus' room, having learned he didn't sleep very much. For the past hour, they had sat in comfortable silence on his balcony that overlooked the vacant plains.

"I just don't want them to know yet. Can't we just keep it between us for now?"

He shrugged noncommittally, "I don't mind."

"Thanks." She gave him a rueful smile. "Now, would you like to explain yourself?"

"Explain what?" One eyebrow rose as he regarded her.

Sighing, she crossed her arms and attempted to plaster a stern look onto her face. "Gimli is a good friend. I like him a lot. Just like the rest of my companions."

"I don't like dwarves." He answered nonchalantly, but seemed amused by her stab at intimidation.

"Legolas and Aragorn are not dwarves. What's your excuse for them?" She asked.

"The prince of Mirkwood is annoying." Linus grunted, drumming his fingers on his leg in an erratic pattern. It hadn't taken long to notice how her brother struggled with stillness. He was constantly moving- tapping his fingers, bouncing his leg, running his hand over the dagger at his side.

"Can't argue with you there." She smirked in reply.

"And Aragorn-" He began.

"Is like a brother to me." She finished for him.

He looked down at her, a frown marring his features. "I'm your brother. Not Aragorn and not the two twins in Rivendell."

"I grew up with them." She said gently, afraid and simultaneously unsure exactly what she was afraid of. It could have been rousing Linus' jealousy or even worse, hurting him. It could be nothing at all, she reasoned. Just the wonderings of a mind that seemed to jump to the worst conclusion faster than she ought to. "They're all family."

"But they're not." He looked away, his eyes grazing over the night plains where darkness had turned the grass to dust.

* * *

Lyra was resisting the urge to fidget with great difficulty. Gandalf had assured the entire company that her training would not actually consist of active fighting.

"At least not yet." He had mumbled so low that only she could hear. And then he had declared that tomorrow, they would begin. Tomorrow had arrived with a speed that seemed wholly unfair.

And then there was something even worse. To her horror, every single one of her friends was present. Their voices reached her ears before she caught a glimpse of all five. Waiting for her. Watching.

Aragorn and Legolas were already talking with Gandalf when she made her way onto the "training field". The wizard had chosen a patch of hill just outside the city that shielded them from the eyes of anyone curious- or unfortunate- enough to be out.

Nearby, Gimli and Linus were standing side by side. One only looked to be at ease.

"I don't have any powers, just my training with my blades." She heard Linus explain to the dwarf with absolutely no trace of patience.

"Training?" Gimli echoed, as always, painfully obtuse when it concerned him.

"When you're surrounded by danger, you learn to survive. I did what I had to do, trained however long I had to." He gave the dwarf a bored glance; "I don't need to explain myself to you."

"Linus." She grunted, giving him a shove with her good shoulder. Gimli, on the other hand, never seemed to take offense at the elf's dislike of him. If anything, it only led him to seek out Linus more often. If not for her worrying, it would have been comical to see the short and burly dwarf follow after the slender elf.

Her other two companions did not share the same fascination. Aragorn had little interaction with her brother but was unfailingly polite each time. Linus seemed to tolerate him the best. Legolas on the other hand…

Lyra never would have expected the mutual dislike between her brother and the prince. After all, they were both elves so Linus could not use the excuse of prejudice. She glanced back and forth between the two, taking in all the similarities and differences. Both elves shared the perfected posture that spoke of a warrior without words. Legolas was the visage of glowing paleness. Linus was a mixture of dim and bright, with contradicting features that only further enhanced them.

While Legolas was constantly aware, Linus was more wary. Though, she knew, he had every right to be. They both had that strange habit of noticing, studying, and disregarding others. She had witnessed it countless times before. When someone would walk into a room, keen eyes would brush over them, searching for weapons and possible danger with the barest flicker of a gaze. And then, a mere second later, they would be forgotten. No pose of a threat.

Because, in all honesty, there was no one that was a danger. Perhaps Gandalf, but Legolas trusted the wizard with his life. Linus remained on edge when the wizard was near.

Without any warning whatsoever, Lyra was thrown backwards several feet. Her body seemed to fly through the air for hours before gravity finally deposited her with its usual severity. Her lungs screamed at the loss of air and no matter how she gaped like a fish, it seemed impossible to take a breath.

"Are you trying to kill me?" She demanded, glaring at the only one she knew could be responsible.

The wizard gave an apologetic shrug. "Well, now we know you are not immune to my attacks."

"Couldn't you have done that in a less severe way?" She asked while Gimli helped her to her feet.

"You should be alert at all times." He smiled and if Lyra wasn't mistaken, there was a trace of amusement in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." She grunted, brushing the dirt off the back of her pants. "Next time just give me a little warning."

"Next time?" Linus raised an eyebrow, turning his attention from the wizard to her. She felt herself wilt under his scrutiny.

"Well yeah, Gandalf agreed to help me with…whatever this is." She explained, unable to put a word to it.

There was a brief respite of silence before everyone began talking at once.

"I don't think that's-" Linus began.

"What a good idea." Gimli interrupted him, seemingly confused how it could be otherwise.

"It's best for Lyra to be prepared." Legolas said.

"No one asked you." Linus barked.

"We all care about Lyra here." Aragorn told Linus while gripping Legolas' shoulder with one hand, whether to calm him or hold him back, Lyra wasn't sure.

She and Gandalf stood to the side, watching the four going back and forth, each inputting their opinion over the other.

"Maybe we shouldn't have told them." Lyra mumbled, chewing on her bottom lip.

"My thoughts exactly." Gandalf, leaning on his staff and shaking his head, turned away to regard the empty hills.

He squinted into the distance and Lyra started, following his gaze. A lone horse stood out among the towering silhouette of the mountain.

"I wonder who that is." Lyra muttered. She could see two figures sitting atop the beast. Children, judging by their height.

A second later, something fell from its back. Rather, someone.

Lyra was already off running, Gandalf close behind her. She heard the others follow, once they had stopped arguing and noticed the two missing.

By the time they reached the pair, the little girl had jumped down from the horse and knelt by her brother. His eyes were closed, his face a pasty white, but she could see no blood marring his clothing. Exhaustion, she surmised with relief.

Lyra knelt next to the boy, feeling his forehead and wincing at the heat that radiate off his skin.

Before she could do anything more, the little girl threw herself at Lyra, seizing her in a death grip. "Mama." She gave a little sob.

"Er, no I'm not your mama. I'm sorry." Lyra fumbled for words as the child clung to her.

"Not you." She pulled back to eye her almost reproachfully before pressing her face once again to her neck. "Mama's gone."

Even as she explained tiredly, Lyra could feel the feather light whisper of her eyelashes closing against her skin. Standing and careful not to jumble the child, she looked at the others with slight panic in her eyes. Aragorn had lifted the boy into his arms and Legolas had whispered soothing words to the panicked horse, which calmed almost immediately under his touch.

Linus stepped forward. "I'll carry her."

But when Lyra tried to pry the girl from her grip, stubborn fingers remained tangled in her hair. Swallowing a sigh, Lyra gave a slight shrug and held the small body closer to her as they made the long trek back to the city.

* * *

Lyra pursed her lips and wondered what it was about the two that caused people to act in such a way. Even thought Lyra never liked children, she knew they needed to be protected, looked after. It came naturally to those around her- the protectiveness. They would whisper soothing words into the children's' ears, rub their backs and even carry them back and forth, though the two were plenty old enough to be walking on their own.

For Lyra, protecting the hobbits felt more natural. They were small and kind of like children, weren't they? Didn't that count for something?

She bounced the child on her lap, like she had seen Eowyn do earlier. Instead of calming, the child began to cry louder, its screams echoing off the walls. The noise was enough to catch the attention of most people in the room. Aragorn looked concerned, like he was afraid she might drop the child at any moment. The little boy grabbed a handful of her hair and began to tug sharply. Gently, she attempted to untangle his fingers without hurting him.

"This is worse than fighting orcs." She groaned when he squealed and effectively pulled out several strands of hair.

Gimli was making no effort to hide his amusement at her expense. "Give him to me, lass."

Despite her blush, she was secretly grateful and hurriedly deposited the boy to Gimli.

It was funny to see the dwarf with a child on his lap, tugging insistently at his beard. "This one'll be a warrior. Has a good strong grip."

Lyra cleared her throat, mainly to hide how awkward she felt and strolled over to the window, inhaling the fresh breeze.

"Do you not like children?" A voice she immediately recognized behind her asked.

Lyra twirled a piece of hair between her fingers self-consciously. "Was it that obvious? It's not that I don't like them, " she hastened to add, "It's just I don't know…well- they're not exactly common in Rivendell."

"And there's only a few year between you and them." Legolas smirked.

She punched his shoulder, knowing he would barely feel it anyway. "Very funny."

"Recently I keep forgetting that." He noted, stepping further out onto the balcony. Lyra found herself following without a second thought, leaving the noise of people growing fainter behind her.

"When we first met, it seemed that was the only thing you could remember about me." She prompted, their feet silent as they walked.

"Things change." He answered absently.

"What made it change?" She pushed, despite an alarm in her head. The wind carried the aroma of horses, a comforting one to her. It smelled of home and reminded her of Hisime, of spending nights in his stable, falling asleep in soft golden hay.

He paused, like he hadn't been expected her to ask. "I don't know."

"Liar." She teased. "Come now. Was it my starling maturity, my fighting skills far beyond those of my age, my womanly ways?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him, fighting back a laugh at his expression.

"I think it was the way you have difficulty sleeping and the constant whining. Like a woman with old bones." Although his words were said with complete seriousness, his lips tilted upwards slightly.

She gave a long-suffering groan before cocking her head up at him in question. "Do you?"

"Do I what?" He eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness, catching shards of light from the moon above.

"Do you like children?" She forced the distraction away and pressed on.

He shrugged, wide shoulders tensing. "There's not much more innocent than a child."

"Didn't seen so innocent when he was trying to rip my hair off and make me deaf." She muttered, glancing back at the wall that now separated her from the gurgling child.

She pulled her fingers through a stubborn tangle impatiently. She was ready to just cut the whole thing off. "How did he do this in under a minute?" She wondered to herself, taking a seat on the solid rock railing and letting her feet dangle over the edge. It was only a few feet down but she still enjoyed the feeling of being elevated.

She heard Legolas sigh. "Here, let me help." She froze as he came to stand behind her, his fingers brushed through her hair, so light she could barely feel it.

"I can do it." She insisted, but made no attempt to move away. His heat soaked into her back and she wondered why he always seemed so much warmer than others. Maybe he had a fever, she mused drowsily.

"I doubt you'd have any left by the time you got through." She could hear the amusement in his voice and fought back the tremor that ran through her.

"Do you like my hair then?" She asked teasingly. His fingers stilled their ministrations before they continued with touches so fleeting that Lyra was left yearning. For what, she didn't know. She tilted her head back and sighed.

"Don't fall asleep on me." He warned. With a great deal of effort, she forced her eyes open and stared at the stars above. Lyra couldn't remember a time in her life when she wasn't fascinated by the bright and lonely lights above. Their presence and Legolas' touches filled her a strange melancholy, constricting her chest.

"This is taking awhile." She noted, her voice so light it seemed to dissipate in the space between the two. For some reason, the thought made her sad.

"I'm afraid I don't have much practice braiding other people's hair." He confessed. Lyra's hearing had gone all wrong. His voice, always deep, echoed through her bones, second shivers outwards.

"Finally- something I have more practice than you do." She roused herself enough to reply smugly.

"Whose hair would you braid?" The voice was harder, more guarded this time. Or maybe it was just her imagination.

"Arwen would always let me play with her hair. And of course when I was little, I liked to sneak into the twins' room and braid flowers into their hair when they were sleeping. It was only years later that I figured out they were never asleep in the first place." She smiled at the memory of childhood and lingering innocence.

"Hm." She heard his chest rumble behind her. It felt as though hours had past and Lyra had the sneaking suspicion that the prince wasn't even remotely trying to hurry.

The silence was heavier this time, loaded with something Lyra didn't fully understand. "What were you like as a child?" She asked suddenly, turning to face him.

His fingers corrected her posture but not before she caught a look of surprise on his face. "What?"

"You. As a child. Were you a good prince, always obeying the rules of your nurses and teachers? Or were you getting lost in the woods, coming home after dark, forcing your father to send guards after you?"

It was a long time before he replied. "A little of both I suppose." He said, like he had never been asked that sort of question before.

After a lingering silence descended, Lyra shifted and asked impatiently, "Well?"

"Well what?" He blinked down at her, sweeping one finger over her newly perfected braid.

"Don't you want to know what I was like?" It was harder than it should have been to hold his gaze but she found it impossible to look away.

He grinned, revealing dimples that never failed to surprise her. "I know what you are like. I have seen you as a child for myself many times."

She should be offended. At least that's what her mind was telling itself. Fortunately for Legolas, that part of her wasn't working properly. She smiled and laughed before leaning back into his overwhelming warmth.

Not for the first time, warning bells rang inside her head- telling her once again that it was not wise to be so profoundly affected by someone.

It was all right, she told herself, Legolas would never betray her. He was her friend.

A friend.

* * *

Hey guys! Sorry it took a little longer for this one. I have really been neglecting my other story on here and had to post that chapter before this one. So, everyone getting excited for Christmas? Oh yeah, leave me a reviews and I'll...be grateful! :)

Kyokkou- Thank you so much for your review! I agree that poor Lyra has been through a lot and before the story is through, she will go through even more but I'm glad you like her in spite of it haha. I find it really helpful when showing a person's character to show them in their worst moments instead of happy moments. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff- First of all, I love your username! Your comment made me smile. Truth be told, I feel a little awkward at times writing romance into stories but I'm glad to see it's working on you.

Arasa17- Thanks so much for being a faithful reviewer. I'm always eager to see what people who actively follow the story think and you're so kind with your reviews. I like your insight onto their relationship. Don't worry. It's a slow burn but things should heat up soon!

Laradith- Hey again! I'm glad you're glad they're back together haha. I'm also happy. Poor Lyra needs some healthy relationships to get her settled again, right? As for your comment on how Legolas will react, you might be on to something there. :)


	31. Shelter

" _We changed again, and yet again and it was now too late and too far to go back and I went on and the mists had all solemnly risen now and the world lay spread before me."_ \- _**Charles Dickens**_

* * *

"You are trying to concentrate, aren't you?" The voice asked, pulling Lyra from her wonderings with an unpleasant and not entirely guilty jolt.

She fought the urge to squirm under the wizard's searching look and instead spouted a lie that tasted as false as it sounded. "Of course I am….trying, that is."

"Yes well, try a little harder. And faster. We don't have all day." He grumbled, peering off to the mountains in the distance like they had done him a great injustice. Gandalf had found her that morning and announced that it was time for another lesson. His tone left no room for argument so she hadn't even tried to convince him the day would be better spent doing _anything_ else.

"Why? What's happening?" She asked, immediately wary. If she knew anything about the wizard, it was that Gandalf was one to discover bad news and keep it to himself until he deemed it necessary to share.

"My dear, if I told you that, you would concentrate even less than you are now, if that were possible."

Huffing, Lyra did as Gandalf asked and focused on the beating of her heart that had steadily grown more erratic.

"Nothing's happening." She murmured after several long minutes passed.

Lyra had waged a psychological battle with her body since she had been old enough to notice how different she was compared to the elves around her. They were filled with an otherworldly grace that made every action, no matter how small, seem weightless. Lyra, on the other hand, spent much of her time tripping over things that didn't exist and covered in mud that the elves seemed to have an invisible barrier against.

Still, it never bothered her overly much. After all, being graceful wasn't exactly number one on her list of priorities. So , the recent discovery that she housed inside her the ability to do terrible things was as if her body had betrayed her yet again. She wasn't sure how it was possible to be afraid of yourself, but she managed to do just that.

"You have to find the power inside. It is a gift. Sitting quietly is usually most helpful in my humble opinion."

"Yeah well, my gift must be messed up because each time it happened, I was angry." She chanced a peek at his face, afraid her continued failure might exasperate him into more severe measures. Indeed, Gandalf had been the one to advise her to seek out the orneriest horses to learn to ride well. It was only after she had been thrown and dislocated her shoulder at the age of 9 that the wizard recanted and instead chose a well mannered mare for her. Lord Elrond had not been at all pleased with the wizard.

Gandalf's brow wrinkled at her confession. "Not just angry. You were trying to protect someone." He murmured, his eyes pinning something over her shoulder.

"Legolas." He greeted, causing Lyra to glance upwards sharply.

The prince gave them both a small nod before he folded himself to sit next to her. Unlike her hair that hung loose and heavy down her back, his was back tied in two warrior braids. As the wind ruffled and knotted hers, she felt a brief pang of jealousy.

"Has any progress been made?" He inquired, causing Lyra to swallow a hasty retort. Legolas was annoyingly perfect at just about everything. She had no doubt if he were blessed with this gift, as Gandalf liked to call it, the prince would have already mastered it.

"Not yet, but I do have an idea." He said, with a strange light in his eyes that Lyra wasn't sure she liked. "Perhaps you would help us?"

"Of course." He agreed easily. Gandalf turned to Lyra with a smile that was much too merry for her liking.

"Although your arm has been slowly healing, it still pains you does it not? You still cannot use it well?" he asked.

She glanced down at her bandaged appendix. "You already know that." She said. "Aragorn said it would be a few weeks before I regain full movement."

"Very good." The wizard tightened his grip on his staff and leaned towards her, almost in a threatening manner. "Heal yourself or it will be…unpleasant for our friend."

"Excuse me?" She asked, cocking her head to the side.

He was spared answering when Legolas gave a small surprised gasp of pain.

A horrible sense of realization hit her. "Gandlaf, did you just-"

Before she could finish, the prince bit back a soft groan, rubbing at his chest and glaring at the wizard. Still, he said nothing. He just sat there and waited. That- more than anything else- lit a fire in her stomach.

"Stop it!" she shouted at Gandalf, clenching her hands into tight fists. The urge to do something crazy- like punch a wizard- was too tempting to resist for long.

"Of course, as soon as you actually start trying."

"Fine, fine." She closed her eyes and tried to push away everything. It was substantially more difficult now that she realized the wizard's patience with her was dwindling.

"Quickly Lyra." His words were a mild warning.

Legolas gasping her name in an almost apologetic way was all it took for the frail dam inside her to break.

Once again, the elusive pressure built up in her chest, soaking into her very bones until she felt them go soft, like her skeleton had fled her body and whatever _this_ was had taken its place.

Something stronger and darker. It tempted her, pulling at her anger, encouraging her to lash out at the one causing pain. She felt her fingernail break the skin of her palm in an attempt to keep the building force inside.

Gandalf was a friend, she reminded herself, willing the energy to soften.

It fought back at first, bloodthirsty and stubborn, willing for the sudden release that causing pain brought. But she was the one in charge so she snarled and forced it down. When it relaxed, she directed it to her wounded shoulder.

Heal, heal, heal, she willed.

It was a curious things- the transformation of something so aggressive to a thing that gave comfort, like a wolf trapped inside a puppy.

When Lyra opened her eyes, a dozen black spots danced across her vision. She blinked rapidly and willed herself not to faint. An unpleasant pounding reverberated inside her skull, like she had stood too fast and been left reeling.

Still, she followed the glances of the other two to her shoulder. "It's gone." She gasped, her fingers probing the new skin where only seconds ago had held stitches.

The silence was long and deep until Legolas shattered it with a single word. "Useful."

"Is that all you have to say?" She demanded, the overwhelming confusion and amazement all hardening into something she was more familiar with-anger.

He cocked his head at her. "What else should I say?"

"I don't know." She huffed. "Doesn't this scare you? I mean who knows, maybe I'll turn into an animal next."

"That would be very unfortunate." His lips held the trace of a smirk.

"This isn't funny." She quickly turned to the bent wizard who was shaking his head at them in amusement. "And you." The two words held ice, "I can't believe you willingly hurt a friend and forced me into a corner. You dare-"

"We are at war Lyra. Of course I dare." Lyra gaped up at him as he stood, his movements slow and pained. _The nerve._ "And I do not need to explain myself to you." He threw over his shoulder, dismissing her anger entirely as he hobbled away.

After glaring daggers at his retreating form, she turned back to the elf that still sat beside her. "Are you alright?" She asked Legolas, even though her tone implied anything but worry.

He seemed mildly offended at her display of concern, as pathetic as it was. "Of course I'm fine."

"But you were hurt. He hurt you." She said, the words tasting funny on her tongue. It was preposterous. Gandalf didn't hurt. Of course, she knew that Legolas was fine but still, she could stay mad at him, couldn't she? At least for awhile…even if he had been doing it for her own good.

"Gandalf did what he needed to do and it was worth it." Legolas said, giving voice to her thoughts.

"You're not angry?" She asked again, somewhat flabbergasted.

"Why would I be?" he seemed confused at her intensity. Which in turn confused her because she was _seething_.

"Well, I'm angry." She replied stoutly, folding her arms in reflex and staring down in surprise when the movement didn't hurt.

"You usually are about something." He leaned back, completely at ease.

"You know, most of the time, I really just don't understand you." She said, busy flexing her arms, testing the range of movement.

An amused smile graced his lips. "The feeling is mutual if that makes you feel any better."

Silence filled the space between them while Lyra ran her fingers over the fresh new skin and Legolas watched her through shadowed eyes. "I would have thought you'd be happy."

"What?" She floundered, not having paid attention in the slightest. Her mind wandered the long miles back to a black tower, to the one who had given her this twisted gift.

"Instead of relying on aggression, you can do something more. Or do you have something against healing?"

"No." She answered slowly.

"And now that you're healed, you can continue your archery training." This time, his smile was positively evil.

She bit back a groan. "Joy."

* * *

The next morning, Lyra woke earlier than usual. The sun still hid behind a dark sky when she rose, shrugged her boots on and set off into the chilly hallways. Despite her sarcasm the day before, Lyra secretly hoped that she and Legolas might continue her archery lessons. The previous battle had shown her how lacking that particular skill was and a steel like determination filled her mind to correct it.

Unfortunately, a guard informed her that her friends were already engaged with the king's business.

Another meeting she was left out from, she grumbled to herself, mindlessly consenting to wander the mostly deserted hallways.

It was there that a maid, looking thoroughly harassed, found her.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" the girl asked, tapping her foot against the stone floor below.

Lyra glanced over her shoulder to assure herself that she was indeed the object of the girl's attention.

"Well?" she asked with no small amount of impatience, pushing back a strand of sweaty hair from her face.

Lyra shook her head. "Nothing."

From the narrowing of the girl's eyes, that was entirely the wrong answer. "I see. You can come with me then." She announced, giving Lyra no time to reply before seizing her arm in a vice like grip and dragging her down the hallways and into a bustling kitchen. Women hurried back and forth, feeding the roaring fire, kneading dough, and slicing vegetables with sharp and practiced precision.

"Peel those." She thrust a knife at Lyra and pointed her to a pile of potatoes that was as big as she was.

"But I-"

"You don't want the Masters upstairs to go without potatoes do you?" she demanded in a shrill voice.

Slightly cowed, Lyra ducked her head. With a sigh, she seized the first potato and began to peel.

* * *

It was her brother who found her among the kitchen maids several hours later. The pile had diminished quite dramatically and Lyra knew she must look like someone who had spent the entire night out on the plains. Or someone who had just been rescued from a battle. She certainly felt like it.

It was only when the maids began to titter that she glanced up from her work to find Linus smirking at her, his lean frame leaned lazily against the door.

"What?" she asked, somewhat defensively, sucking one thumb that received a stinging cut from the cramps that had built up in her fingers.

His only reply had been a slight upward curl of his lips and a careless shrug. "Shall I save you?" he asked.

"You're-you're not a maid?" the girl who had recruited Lyra gaped, her eyes flickering back and forth between the two siblings.

"Does she look like a maid?" Linus asked, causing her to blush at the sarcasm in his voice.

"I wanted to help." Lyra interrupted, "I know how much Gimli like potatoes." She finished lamely, brushing the dirt off her clothes.

"Well then, I can come back later." Linus offered, making to leave.

"Er, no- perhaps I'll stop for the day." She quickly bid the others goodbye, trying not to look too pleased at her escape before following her brother out.

"Somehow I don't think you would make a good maid." He told her as they walked along. The sun had now risen and early light trickled in through stained glass windows and open doors.

"Yes but you would." Was her immediate reply, born from a lifetime of enduring teasing from Elrohir and Elladan.

To her surprise, he laughed. The sound brought a smile to her face. Linus was far too serious, bowed under the weight of years spent with Saruman. It was good to see him unburdened and stripped of his barriers. He looked younger and happier and less…dangerous.

"How was the meeting?" She asked curiously. King Theoden had demanded so much of her companions' time in recent days and with the way Gandalf had been acting, change was clearly in the air.

Linus' countenance immediately darkened. "The king does not feel his people are safe here. Saruman is too strong."

That name, his name, caused her to tense but she willed her mind to relax and pushed forward, "Where does he want to go?"

"Helm's Deep." The answer was short and clipped.

"And you disapprove?"

"We'll be in the open for days with little cover. Children and the old alike. If something does happen, running isn't an option."

She shrugged. "It wouldn't be an option anyway."

* * *

The news that the entire city would be evacuating trickled down among the ranks with a surprising lack of panic until every person in sight was abuzz in preparation. Every horse had been well fed and every saddle oiled for the long march ahead. Women loaded carts filled with food and blankets. The soldiers passed out long spears and swords blunt from lack of use. Even the children gathered together the sheep and pigs instead of playing their usual games.

Lyra found that time passed quickly the more she wanted to prolong it. Rohan was filled with simple, hardworking people that appreciated simple things. It was so very different from Rivendell and yet she felt a strange sort of comradely with the land. Edoras had lost its foreign edge and she felt a genuine pang of sadness at the knowledge that she would soon be leaving it.

And then, the day before they were to begin the long road to Helm's Deep, Lyra overheard two soldiers talking in hushed voices.

"Even the wizard is leaving." One said to the other, shaking his head in dismay. Lyra froze at that, shocked into stillness.

"Still, we have the elf. Two of them." Lyra blushed a deep red. Luckily, neither soldier noticed her. "And the man from the Dunedain is a warrior. If something were to happen, our forces could protect the innocent."

"But the way to Helm's Deep is rough and there are many old and-"

"Where is the wizard going?" she demanded, stepping into their line of sight. They jumped in surprise, hands immediately going to the swords around their waist until they noted who she was.

"Who knows when it comes to wizards, my lady." He bowed his head, unsure how to address her and clearly awkward in her presence. It wasn't often the people of Rohan saw elves, especially females, she surmised.

And just like that, her brilliant plan of giving Gandalf the cold shoulder until he was cornered into delivering a halfhearted apology evaporated into thin air. She delivered a clumsy thanks to the two men before turning and hurrying through the town, glancing this way and that for a familiar tall presence. After several minutes of searching, she caught sight of the hunched figure hurrying down the dirt path towards the stables.

"Hey you!" she shouted, jogging after the long white cloak.

"Hey you?" he barely spared her a glance, continuing on his way, his long strides making it difficult to keep up. "I threatened Sam with turning him into a frog if he failed to take care of Frodo. Perhaps it might teach you some manners?"

Ignoring the empty threat, she pulled at his robe, forcing him to a stop, "Where are you going? You can't leave us."

"I'm doing this for all of us. We have hope but I'm afraid we need a little more." He answered in his usual cryptic way.

"But-"

"Hush now girl. My mind's made up." He said other things, far too low and garbled for her to understand. It hit her in that moment. Gandalf was getting old. She knew he had lived countless years, but he was tired and the weight of his position was wearing him thin. A brief flash of him falling in Moria echoed in her mind.

"You will be careful won't you?" Her voice betrayed her worry, as much as she tried to hide it.

"Here I leave you in this hole full of strangers and you ask me to be careful?" His bushy eyebrow arched incredulously. If she wasn't mistaken, she detected a faint trace of annoyance under his gruff countenance.

She nodded once and the wizard seemed to deflate a little. Gently, he laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"Trust yourself in this battle Lyra. And trust the others." He looked as if he wanted, needed, to say more but he straightened to his full height and without another word, mounted Shadowfax.

"I'm not angry at you." She blurted out. It sounded silly to her ears- the sudden childish confession- but in the moment, it seemed desperately important that he understand.

Hiding a smile, he looked down at her with the fondness that she remembered. Lyra closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of horse and hay. She could almost pretend they were back at Rivendell and that Gandalf had shown up unexpectedly for another visit.

"I know that Lyra." She opened her eyes to meet his dark ones once more.

And then he was gone.

Lyra watched the white stallion gallop away until the wizard he bore was hidden by the distance. She stood on a small hill just outside the city gates. In front of her, the plains stretched out in flecks of green and gold.

"We're leaving again." She said, knowing full well who stood behind her. It was only his good manners that she heard his approach. After all, he never made a sound unless it was intentional.

"So we are." He confirmed, giving no hint of his thoughts on the matter.

"It's funny. Back in Rivendell, there was nothing I wanted more than to see all these places- the mines of Moria, Lothlorien, Fangorn Forest, and even Helm's Deep. But now-"

"It's not quite what you expected is it?"

She shivered and glanced back at him. "Is that silly?"

The light in his eyes was old, ancient. He had seen so much more than she. "No. This journey has been…not what I expected either."

"What's the most surprising thing?" She couldn't help but ask.

"Oh, the people I suppose." He said with a wry smile, taking a step forward to glance down at her.

"Everyone's leaving." She confessed. The wind tore at her words and she was afraid the violent gale might carry them away up into the clouds. She didn't feel the courage necessary to give voice to her fears again. The Fellowship had fractured once more, even after the wizard had come back. There were only four of them together now. When would that number go down again?

"Gandalf will be fine. He's survived a Balrog after all."

"Technically he didn't." She replied, but his words had done what they were made to and brought a smile to her lips.

"I'm not going anywhere." He said. It was more than hastily spoken comfort. It was a promise. And as the sun began its lazy descent into darkness, Lyra felt her courage start to surface. She had wanted to protect her friends and now she had the ability to.

She _would_ protect them.

Lyra felt something within her quicken even as his presence slowed the flow of panic in her mind. "Good."

* * *

Whew, alrighty guys! I FINALLY updated again. Sorry but Scrivener decided to stop working and it took awhile to fix. Still, I hope you guys like the chapter! Leave me a review?


	32. The Way Forward

"Give me silence, water, hope

Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes."

― **Pablo Neruda**

* * *

The plains of Rohan spread out before Lyra like an endless tanned mirage. Ever so often, they would encounter bouts of lush green grass, a sharp contrast to the sleeping prairie before them. Ever since she had set foot in Rohan, the mountains, as they always had, kept guard from miles away, their presence still sharply felt.

But as the hours passed, their towering watch unfurled a new emotion in Lyra- that of being trapped. Watched. But no matter where she looked, there was no enemy. No one to fight. Not even the slightest sign of danger.

There was Gimli who to everyone's surprise, willingly mounted a horse. His booming voice seemed to travel across the plains and echo back at them. He filled the lazy hours with tales of Erebor and his the people who had filled its great halls. Although the dwarf still got lost in the middle of his sentences when he spoke of his lost home, with a glimmer of pain in his eye- Lyra suspected there always would be- he could tell them stories without breaking down in tears. It was during these days that Lyra gained an even greater appreciation for the dwarf's tenacity.

And then there was Aragorn, who spent much of his time with King Theoden, their heads bent over, speaking in hushed whispers. But always, when he was finished advising, would find his way back to their small group. Although he tried to hide the burden he bore, it was obvious in the darkening under his eyes, the way his lips would tilt downward as he stood long into the night, contemplating the empty hills that surrounded them. Lyra tried to distract his mind, turn his thoughts to lighter things. Most of the time she succeeded. Or at least, she suspected she did.

Then there was Eowyn, who had joined them the second day. Although confused, Lyra was never one to turn down female company, especially after being surrounded by men for so long. And then she discovered that she actually liked Eowyn. She wasn't how a high born lady was supposed to be. And Lyra liked that. She had similar dry humor and dreamt of things beyond- or rather underneath- her station. She was content to tell Lyra about her life as a Shieldmaiden and everything that entailed. But she loved listening to Lyra's sometimes awkward retelling of the places they had been to. It was clear that Eowyn bore much responsibility with good grace but at the strangest times, Lyra thought she detected a bit of silliness in the woman. A lighthearted spirit born down with too much loss.

There was Linus who seemed to be the only one relieved to be away from the gates of Edoras. The open plains were freedom, he told Lyra one day- there were plenty of places to run. He spent much of his time walking at her side, a silent predator. The two discovered countless newfound similarities. They both had a fondness for stubborn horses- Gimli's in particular. The stallion favored the two siblings. Lyra used her advantage to keep the beast calm for his rider.

Linus- when he was feeling exasperated with the dwarf, used his influence for other purposes. When Gimli pestered Linus with one too many questions, he would whisper something into the velvet ears of the stallion who would in turn fidget, causing Gimli to tense and hold on tighter.

Still, Lyra felt a thawing between the two, on Linus' part at least. Gimli was always more than happy for company. Away from the walls of Edoras, Linus seemed younger. After countless requests from Gimli, he even graced the dwarf with a practice match- Linus' sword against Gimli's axe. From then on, she would often glimpse the two practicing with the other, their shouts rising over the sound of all else. Most days, they gathered a crowd. The children especially, were drawn to the matches. Like Lyra, Linus preferred sweet food above all else. Still, their group did well. Linus and Lyra would trade their vegetables for Legolas and Gimli's lembas, which held a honeyed flavor despite the weeks of travel.

And then there was Legolas. As a warrior with hundreds of years of wartime experience, his council was always requested with the king. Still, he seemed to prefer leaving this task to Aragorn. Although there had been no sign of danger, he was strangely hesitant to leave Gimli and Lyra. At night, when Lyra pretended to sleep, she would often see him disappear with his bow slung low on his back. He returned just before the morning light. Scouting ahead, she recognized.

The two had grown even closer. And it was with good humor that Lyra recounted the time before- when the two had been all but enemies. She chuckled and giggled inside her head at it but Legolas seemed less apt to appreciate their sharp history. He looked at her with distaste when she mentioned any of the incidents Before.

Before- that's what he liked to call it. Or rather not call it, as he preferred to never mention it. Still, if there was something Lyra wanted- like to win at cards- all she would have to do was mention the time Before. He would sigh and suddenly and miraculously- lose that round. Their lessons at archery continued and instead of resisting as she had before, Lyra found that she rather looked forward to their lessons. She was improving- very slowly but still, improvement was improvement. At least, that's what Legolas said, when she grew impatient with herself. She would never be as good as he was. Most times, his bow seemed an extension of his body and with every weapon he touched, the prince seemed to hold with a knack of deep understanding. It was a skill made from countless years of practice, of steel like determination. She doubted anyone would ever rival his deadly accuracy and complete control.

And then there was Lyra whose nightmares had returned with a vengeance. They seemed to occupy every moment she closed her eyes until the moment of relief when Legolas would shake her awake, worry deep in his eyes as he looked down at her. She tried to brush his concern away but it was difficult when her entire body shook from the terror that filled the space behind her eyes. She was aware that he watched her more closely than the others. And for the first time, she didn't mind. Legolas was protection, safety. Having him closer quieted much of the panic in her head. But there was one image that refused to be purged from her thoughts even after she had woken and most of the nightmares had evaporated into smoke- that of Aragorn falling.

So it was that while Legolas watched her, she in turn watched Aragorn. And it was with this newfound attention that she noticed something she wished she hadn't.

Lyra watched Aragorn and watched Eowyn- more specifically, she watched them together. The ranger remained oblivious, and while she never wished her new female friend any heartache, she was secretly happy that Aragorn remained ignorant.

But to her horror, Eowyn herself thrust Lyra headfirst into the situation.

"Lord Aragorn was telling me about your sister." She began, a small frown tugging her lips downward.

"Arwen?" Lyra's heart increased its pace as she looked anywhere but at the woman beside her.

"Yes." Eowyn fiddled with the bridle's leather strap before pressing forward. "What is she like?"

"She's wonderful. Some say she is the mirror image of Luthien, the most beautiful elf of all time." Lyra knew it was a low blow but she couldn't help but hope that upon hearing this, Eowyn would realize how outranked she was. Strangely enough, the difference in beauty was not enough to set Lyra's mind to rest. Unlike most men, she knew Aragorn was not shallow. It was more than her sister's beauty that captured him. "She's talented at everything she does. Although she doesn't train like I do in weapons, if she ever were to, I'm sure she would surpass me in no time at all."

"She sounds difficult to live with. If I had a sister so perfect, I fear there would be much jealousy in my heart."

Lyra laughed, "Arwen's far too kind for that. You can't dislike her no matter how hard you try." She glanced at Eowyn's expression and felt a swell of pity take her. Still, she couldn't help but drive the last nail in the coffin. It was kind, she told herself, that Eowyn give up all hope at once- a clean break. "My sister will wait for him."

Eowyn was silent for several moments, "Are you so sure?"

"If you ever met her, you'd never need to ask me that question. She loves him very much." Lyra coughed, "I'm sure you understand because of that, I'm quite- protective of Aragorn." Eowyn's eyes rose to meet hers. "I'd never want him to get hurt."

Understanding colored the woman's cheeks and she gave a small nod and offered her the reigns to Gimli's horse.

"You are a caring sister." She said with absolutely no trace of malice in her voice. There was only sadness that Lyra felt herself deflate a little. "Please forgive me but I think my Uncle needs me to help feed our people. I will see you tomorrow." She turned away and began her slow march forward. Unable to watch the bowed shoulder of her friend any longer, she glanced behind her to where Gimli sat. He eyed her with interest and it was with a sinking feeling in her gut that she realized he had heard every word.

Tilting her chin up, she tried to defend herself against his silent accusations. "I was just protecting him and my sister of course."

"I thought you trusted the laddie."

"I do but still, he's male." She said with word with no small amount of distaste. "I'm just-well- what I did wasn't wrong. And I don't need to explain that to you." She said pointedly.

"Come now Lyra, you know how he feels abut her." He said kindly. She was just about to agree and let the matter go when she spied two figures in the distance conversing with one another. Eowyn, who had been leaving had met Aragorn, coming back to them from his council with the king. It was with a shy smile that Eowyn offered Aragorn something from a metal pot that had steam rising from the top in waves of heat. Before she knew it, her feet were moving her forward towards the pair.

"Wait a moment Lyra." Gimli called behind her, cursing as his horse stopped and began to munch on grass, completely ignoring the commands of his rider.

By the time she made her way to Aragorn, Eowyn had moved on.

"I need to speak with you." She began, picking at her shirt, and feeling out of place as the soldiers nearby eyed her openly.

Aragorn nodded and smiled good naturedly, causing her to scowl.

"What is it Lyra? Is something wrong?" he asked, draping his arm around her shoulder as they wandered away from the crowd.

"Err yes, well, I-" she stumbled over her words, feeling decidedly put off. Now that he was here, waiting, the righteous anger had evaporated somewhat leaving her floundering for something to say. "I'm hungry."

He gave her a blank look, "Lady Eowyn just offered me some stew." He leaned closer and began to whisper conspiracy, "Just between the two of us, it might be safer to go hungry but-"

"Of course she would offer some to you." Lyra blurted out, pulling away from his embrace.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"You would be the last one to notice."

"Notice what?" He looked completely mystified at her prickling of anger.

"How Eowyn looks at you." She forced out. There, she said it. And from the flashes on Aragorn's face, it was not taken well. Surprise, understanding, hurt, shame.

"Lyra-" his voice held a slight warning that she chose to ignore.

"It might not be my place, but Arwen is my sister. I like Eowyn and I don't want to see her hurt. You either." She hastened to add.

"You don't understand." He said, brushing his hair from his face with a wave of impatience. It was his lack of denial more than anything else that had set her blood to boiling again.

"Understand what?" she demanded, "That you're forgetting the very person who's dying for you?" Her voice rose to a shout but she didn't notice the people who turned in their direction or the curious stares directed their way. She didn't even notice Legolas until his hand on her shoulder had her turning away from Aragorn.

"What's wrong with you two?" he asked, his keen eyes glancing back and forth between the two. His touch remained on Lyra's shoulder as he pulled her closer into his side. She hid her face there, all at once angry and ashamed and afraid.

She always knew that Aragorn loved her sister but now her mind was swimming in doubt. She stayed in Legolas' embrace for several moments, simply breathing in his scent and relaxing in his warmth. When she peeked out, Aragorn was gone.

She pulled away slowly and scrubbed at the traitorous tears that had fallen without her knowledge. "Aragorn doesn't believe my sister will wait." She hiccuped.

"And you do?" He asked, his voice giving no hint of the direction of his thoughts.

"Of course she will. She loves him." She huffed up at him.

"Sometimes that's just not enough." His hand on her back traced soothing patterns.

"It's the only thing that is enough. He's just complicating things." She pulled away from the comfort he offered.

"You're too young to understand."

She growled, "I wish people would stop saying that." The company had camped down for the night and a few hills away, the smoke of campfires kept the falling darkness at by.

"Fair enough. Have you ever been in love?" He asked, distracting her thoughts once again.

"Have you?" she shot back, too flustered to reply.

"I asked you first."

"Now who's acting like a child?"

He laughed, a carefree sound that made her smile in reply. "No suitors waiting for you back in Rivendell?"

"Stop your teasing." She said, unconsciously twirling the ring on her finger back and forth.

He quieted and shot her a brief look before shaking his head, "I wasn't." He paused, noting the tinge of red that colored her cheeks. "Are you so inexperienced that you blush so easily when anything like this is mentioned?" He seemed oddly pleased by the thought.

Lyra's reflex reply was to hit his stomach.

He sent her a wounded look that Lyra stuck her tongue out at. "Oh please, you would never be hit unless you wanted to."

He shrugged and that was that. "Come on, let's get some food." He said, taking her hand and tugging her along.

* * *

The frigid silence that descended between Lyra and Aragorn showed no sign of thawing even after two nights had come and gone. To be fair, Aragorn had tried several times to approach her but Lyra, still confused and angry, had disappeared whenever he was near.

Gimli was vocal about how silly and immature she was being. Judging by how the dwarf had fallen from his horse just the other day, Lyra decided not to read too far into his advice. Legolas was rather sneakier, sending her disapproving glances when she made excuses as to why she couldn't see the ranger. Linus had asked why she couldn't pick a fight with the dwarf instead, as the ranger's presence didn't grate him so.

In truth, Lyra hated being around her friend and not talking to him. Never before had there been any sense of awkwardness between the two. And Lyra detested it. But still, her pride wouldn't allow her to apologize although she wavered back and forth every day.

And then one day that began just like all the others before it, shattered the peaceful silence. Legolas, who had left hours before to patrol ahead, came sprinting towards them, Aragorn hot on his heels.

"They found us." He shouted to the soldiers who stood around, intermingled with the villagers. Everyone stopped and froze and waited for the next fateful words.

"Who?" Gimli asked, already trying unsuccessfully to mount his horse.

"Wargs." He answered. And then all at once, everything fell into chaos.

* * *

Hey everyone! How's it going? I tried to get this one up earlier cause I felt guilty about taking so long last time :( I've been working a lot and writing a lot...and watching Netflix a lot. Seriously though- A Series of Unfortunate Events- come on, gotta love it. Anyway, leave me a review and let me know how you think the story is progressing. I have had quite a few people say the romance is a long time coming and that is absolutely true. I did promise a slow burn after all. But apologies to everyone waiting. I know it can be torturous but it will be coming...soonish. Promise! I have the story mapped out for the most part and we are about a third of the way through. Who knows though? Things change- it could end up being longer.


	33. What's Inside Will Rise

" _It's not who you are that holds you back, it's who you think you are not."_ **— Jean Michel Basquiat**

* * *

The children, who moments before had been jumping about in glee filled games, began to cry at the first howl that rent the air. Men's voices, though underlined with fear, shouted back and forth while they grabbed arrows and swords and set off in the direction the terrible noises were rising from. The women who were left immediately bunched together, forming a tight knot, pushing the children closer to the center, as though they could shelter them from danger with their own bodies.

Every single person was in movement- except for Lyra.

She didn't notice Gimli give a somewhat unsuitable whoop of excitement.

She didn't notice Legolas take out his knives and hold them to the light for a silent inspection, like he had been a hundred times before. His hands never shook; they were sure and steady and the exact opposite of the war that raged inside Lyra.

A sense of foreboding came crashing down on her and forgotten images of her dreams flashed to mind. Her dreams were a warning, she had told her father herself. Only now, when they were clawing at her with dizzying intensity, she couldn't figure out. A warning of what?

Aragorn tumbling into a pool of darkness flashed behind her eyes. And yet there he was, standing in front of her- her hands in his larger ones, so very much alive- and shouting things to others than she couldn't hear. It was only when he took her by the shoulders and shook her that his words rung inside her ears.

"Go with Legolas. He'll keep you safe." And then he turned around and began to step away. Without any thought, she moved with him and seized his wrist in an unrelenting grip.

"But I want to stay with you." She said and to her own ears, it almost sounded like begging. His eyes softened but she didn't see. It was all coming too fast. She needed time to figure out her dreams but now, the nightmares that were coming to life and unfurling all around her.

She had been so stupid, she realized, so childish. And now, when there was no time, she was unable to explain, to apologize, to do something, anything to make it better.

"I didn't mean to-" she began.

"I know Lyra, I know." He said, pulling her into his embrace. He smelled like dirt and sweat and metal and then all too soon, he was gone.

Lyra breath abandoned her lungs in one fell swoop. Everything was so wrong.

A hand seized hers and she looked up to Legolas pulling her towards a horse. When he detected the look of fear in her eyes, he paused.

"You'll be alright Lyra. I'll keep you safe." He promised, misunderstanding her apprehension for something simpler.

"Not me." She gasped, "Aragorn." The pounding in her head was growing more painful by the second. "I need to help him."

"We will Lyra. But I'm not letting you into battle until I'm sure your head's in the right place."

Her eyes narrowed in anger. "You're not keeping me out of this. Let's go." She commanded, mounting his horse with little preamble. She caught his grin before he jumped on behind her, his arms encircling her waist and pulling her tighter against his chest. "Sneaky elf", she muttered under her breath, knowing he heard.

Gimli was bouncing up and down, barely keeping his seat as they surged forward. Lyra whispered a soothing command to the startled stallion and his gait smoothed though he still trembled. The hill they rode up was steep, blocking any sight of what lay beyond. But she could hear the telltale sounds of battle and bloodshed and the screeching of an animal that was wholly unfamiliar to her.

The very moment they reached the top of the rise, before Lyra was even able to look around her, something large collided with them, tossing her and Legolas to the ground. The air escaped her lungs as she was sent tumbling straight into the middle of a battle already well on its way.

An arrow hit just to her left, only a few inches from her face. Move, her mind commanded, move or you'll be dead. But Lyra found her body had frozen where it lay as her lungs convulsed, desperate for air. Clenching her fist against the pain, she forced herself to roll over and sit up. Black spots danced across her vision while her ears were filled with high pitched ringing. It was impossible to know if the noises were the screams of the dying or the product of a nasty hit to the head.

It wasn't but seconds before she caught a glimpse of Gimli running through the carnage, his axe already dripping with black blood. Legolas was nowhere in sight, although she could hear his arrow twang though the air before finding its mark. It was hard to say how she heard that small sound amidst the screams of both men and orcs and the violent clashes of metal against metal.

There was no time to call him before two wargs, both bearing riders, spotted her, lying unprotected. At a swift kick from their riders, the beasts began their gallop forward. Until this moment, Lyra had never met an animal that inspired fear in her, but as she stood against the coming wave of muscle and sharp teeth, she felt very, very small.

Without any warning, one of the orcs gave a screech of pain and fell from the saddle, an arrow jutting from the side of its neck. A yellow fletching stood out, bright among the rotting flesh. Recognizing the arrow, she glanced around, trying to find one elf among the sea of soldiers and orcs.

Before she could, the second warg picked up where the first had fallen. Closing her eyes and calling to mind Gandalf's too few lessons, she called to the power that lay waiting under her skin.

She made a promise to protect her friends, one she fully intended to keep. Gimli and Aragorn and Legolas. A force pressed against her chest that was almost painful. But instead of taming it like she had last time, she let her rage at the evil creatures build until it exploded from her fingertips. The ground a few feet away shattered, a hole three feet deep gaping back at her. She glanced down at her hands in wonder. But they were the same hands she always had- completely ordinary looking.

Everything else felt different. Her skin was filled with a million buzzing insects and the fear that had filled her only moments before fled as the light filled her insides. Instead of taking a step away, she smirked and began to walk towards the other warg.

The animal started and hesitated for half a second before it snarled and lumbered towards her once more, its teeth bared and dripping.

Lyra brought her hands in front on her, willing the power to focus. She sent another surge forward, reminded her of lightning that ripped the sky in half. This time, it connected and the warg fell with a mighty crash, its front legs ripped away. The rider was pitched off its back and landed with a sickening crunch on its neck. The body didn't move again. The world around Lyra slowed as she focused, the screams and crashed that had threatened to shatter her eardrums only seconds before, muted to distance thunder. The air itself seemed thick as she breathed it in.

And then as she felt the whisper of an enemy behind her, the world righted itself again. The axe that had tried to cleave away her head missed by mere inches as she turned and ducked. She brought out her knives and screamed before plunging it into the chest of the orc. As she ripped the knife back out, a stream of hot blood burst onto her face. She rubbed her eyes, furiously trying to blink away the grime. Before she could, a force exploded into her side and once again sent her tumbling. Her mouth was full of red iron as it dribbled onto her chin.

The orc that had thrown itself at her righted itself only a little faster than she did. It raised a rusted sword and brought the blade down towards her with a force that left her arms jarred as she raised her own to block the deadly swing. Twisted her body, she kicked at its legs, sending it tumbling to the ground beside her. Before it could regain any footing, she grabbed an arrow from the quiver at her back and sent the sharpened tip deep into its throat. It gurgled on its own blood, drowning to death. But Lyra wasn't there to watch it die. Already standing, she pulled the arrow out, set it against her bowstring and released it, sending it spinning in the air until it found its mark deep in a warg's shoulder.

In the end, Lyra didn't know whether the battle lasted hours or seconds. The continual fall of bodies marked time. The pressure inside her began to seep away and with it, Lyra felt her arms and legs grow heavier until it was all she could do to remain standing.

When the sounds of battle quieted, far too many soldiers lay unmoving in the mud. The remaining orcs fled and soon disappeared beyond the hills.

It was only when the sound of her name being yelled reached her ears that she looked up from the blood stained grass. Legolas jumped over the carcass of an orc in his haste to reach her.

"You disappeared." He scolded, busy searching her for injuries. His eyes darkened as he wiped away the blood from her chin and pushed her hair back to inspect the bump on her head still growing.

"I'm fine." She rolled her eyes, before noticing something that made her feel unreasonably happy. "Your hair is rather ruffled though."

He cocked his head at her, his eyes trailing over her face. She could feel blood and sweat plastering her hair to her and small cuts that were still oozing blood. A sleeve was torn as well as the knees in her leggings. She looked as though she had been rolling around in blood and dirt. Legolas on the other hand, merely looked as if he had been out for an afternoon stroll in high winds.

She scowled at his silent assessment. "I only look like this because I killed more than you." She reasoned.

"You killed over a dozen?" He asked with mock amazement.

She coughed awkwardly and averted her eyes, "Where's Gimli?"

"Right behind ya lassie." She turned to find the dwarf wiping his axe on the ground, ridding it of the stain that dripped off its edge. "Just dispatching the rest of the filth."

"And Aragorn, where is he?" She asked, looking around the clearing, fully expecting Aragorn to be bent over a soldier already busy healing. Men were helping each other up and gathering the wounded together. But the ranger was not with them. She looked towards the king who stood with a few men off to the side, overlooking a cliff. Aragorn was nowhere in sight. She ran over to the small group, Legolas and Gimli close behind her.

"My lord, we are looking for Aragorn." She said, her voice a little too shrill. Where was he? The small spurt of anger that had unfurled in her belly at him making her wait, making her worry, was quickly snuffed by the look on Theoden's face as he turned towards her.

She licked her lips and tried again, "Aragorn-"

"I'm sorry my lady." He shook his head and turned once more towards the steep drop of cliff and the swirling water below. No, no, no.

"Where is he?" She managed to croak out all the while desperately wishing she could turn away and not hear. She could pretend for a little longer.

"He fell." Theoden confessed. She didn't feel his hand on her shoulder or hear his mumbled apology. She just stared at the lake below. Empty.

"No, this isn't right-" It came out a pained gasp; there wasn't enough air in the world and even as her mind refused to accept the loss, her heart began to pound and ache. She glanced to her left to where Legolas and Gimli stood. Surely they would know. This couldn't be right. Aragorn was a gifted fighter and no orc that ever existed could do him away. But they remained transfixed on the dark water below, looking as lost as she felt.

It was the faint sound of pained gurgling that pulled the group's attention away. There, lying propped up on the ground was an orc stained with blood and losing more with each second. His face was slashed to the bone and rotting teeth peeked through, stained black. One of the soldiers stepped forward, his sword raised until the creature began to speak, his gaze directed straight at Lyra.

"I know you." He snarled, his breath caught in a strangled cough. "Orthanc."

Her body began to tremble as realization hit her like a blow to the gut.

She desperately needed to stop it from talking, to kill it, but her legs remained rooted to the spot as if she had grown into the dirt there. She could feel the dark curiosity from those around her. The soldier hesitated and in the end, that was enough.

"Kill it." She whispered, "Kill it."

Because there is was- the terrible truth that cut her open fresh without leaving a trace of wounds. And the world was wide around her but there was nowhere to hide.

For a moment, freedom was there, just within her grip. The freedom that hiding she wasn't the daughter of a monster provided. Then, as her fingers tightened on nothing but air, it was gone.

"Saruman will be pleased his daughter lives."

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Hello all! **Corii00, GloriousFandoms, Mirabellec, RLMz** , **Jshaw0624,** and of course **Laradith** left me such awesome reviews this last chapter that I was determined to hurry and get the next chapter out for you all. Thank you all for being so continually supportive of this fic!


	34. An Ugly Truth

_Life has a way of testing a person's will, either by having nothing happen at all or by having everything happen all at once." —_ **Paulo Coelho**

* * *

Lyra searched for her voice and was unable to find it. The sudden swell of panic kept any words frozen inside her throat.

Words that would have tasted of poison. Words that were true and horrible all at once.

She should have denied it, could have woven lies to fold over their eyes. But she was never talented at hiding her emotions, no matter how she might want to. Arwen had told her that countless times, when she was just a child trying to hide the fact that she had snuck out into the woods once again. Or that she had stolen another sweet from the cook. Small, meaningless things that didn't really matter anymore.

And now, when she needed to most, she found that once again, her body betrayed her. And they saw; they all saw.

Théoden was the first to speak. Unlike her, he seemed to be keeping his silence with great difficulty.

"Is it true?" From the look on his face, Lyra didn't need to ask. But she did anyway, wishing the inevitable had come later. Or never. Because judging by the pounding of her heart, the way it skipped about like a frightened rabbit, she wasn't ready to face this yet.

"Is what true?" Her mouth was so dry that the words fell out deceptively even.

"Are you his daughter?" He demanded into the absolute quiet that had descended on the battlefield. After the screams and chaos of combat, the living were now as silent as the dead. The King of Rohan stood before her but he didn't look like kings were supposed to. Something baser regarded her back, something both familiar and foreign, something that made her pulse leap upwards into her throat.

And for the first time, Lyra found herself afraid of a human. Not because she thought he would kill her but because she knew he was prepared to do just that. The hate that she feared ever since Saruman's confession had come. And she couldn't even deny it. Her inability to answer was answer enough.

"Unnatural." His hands remained clenched at his side but Lyra could see how they itched to grip his sword, the jump of blood under his skin.

She had seen what lay in the man's eyes before. In the Palantir- when Sauron had fought his way through her mind and ruffled through it without regard. The burning hate that ate at her then, stared at her now.

She could turn men into monsters. Like her father.

She opened her mouth, tried to speak. "Your nephew helped me. Eomer-"

"And look where that got him. You could have been in league with Wormtongue." He spat, noting with satisfaction that his men drew towards him. Away from her, like she was a parasite who might infect the healthy.

"With all due respect my lord, it was you and not Lyra that fell to him. You failed your nephew by signing his death warrant and Lyra by allowing that creature to keep her locked in a cell." Legolas said, stepping forward in one smooth motion that spoke volumes. She could almost feel his warmth at her side, just enough to keep her skin from breaking out into tremors.

"How can you protect her?" A man she doesn't even knows demands. She forced herself to look up and meet his gaze and the hooded fear there. _I'm not a monster_ , her thoughts seem to chime, to beg. She just can't force it past her lips. He still looks at her like she is one. They all do.

"Lyra is not her father. You would do well to remember that." The warning is clear this time. She doesn't chance a look over at Legolas. But she can feel the tension radiating from him in waves. Deadly intention.

But Théoden is too vexed now to submit so easily. "You may be innocent but I do not think so. I have seen darkness inside you. If you do anything to arouse my suspicion any further than it has been, I won't hesitate to have you killed." It's a threat and a promise, almost eager. She wonders how someone can be so hungry for more blood when the grass they stand on is shining with it.

Gimli gave a short huff to that and began mumbling under his breath. Legolas said nothing but she felt his fingers smooth their way across the small of her back. A silent comfort- promise of protection without saying a word.

Shooting her a parting glare, Theoden stormed away, taking all his men with him, so eager to be away from her. Lyra stared at the man's retreating form, finding it easier to look at him than the keen blue eyes she felt studying her.

"Lyra-" His voice was soft and gentle and made her grit her teeth to keep from leaning into his warmth. A smooth pebble dropped in a dark pond, sending ripples outward.

She heard him sigh behind her, thought she felt his shadow on her shoulder. He tried again. "Lyra."

"What?" She was horrified to find that her voice wavered.

There was a brief pause before he asked, "Are you injured?"

Almost against her will, she turned to face him. His face, framed by the sunlight, seemed to glow, like he was an otherworldly thing, so far beyond everything she knew. Still, to her, he seemed to be the most real thing there. Everything else was smoke and mist.

What she saw made her heart clench and almost brought tears to her eyes. Almost.

Rather, it was what she didn't see. There was no burning hatred, no judgment, no fear. Only concern.

The pressure of his stare pulled at her. If she reached her hands out in front of her, she's sure to feel the weight of it between them.

"I'm fine." She sniffed, forced herself to look away.

His eyes narrowed at that, now filled with some anger. Whether it was aimed at her or someone else was impossible to know. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm fine Legolas." She says, and the words seem to take another piece of her with them. One more lie to keep company with all the others.

He stepped forward until there was no space between them, reached forward to brush her hair from her face, "You hit your head when we fell. It could be a concussion."

His touch, so gentle, like he was handling fine silk caused a shudder to run through her. She wanted nothing more than to allow him to touch her, to take away some of the burning she felt.

It would help; he would help. Despite everything. Or maybe in spite of it. But she doesn't deserve to feel better so she forces herself to do the opposite, even though she has to grit her teeth.

"Stop it!" She bit out and jumped away. "Stop pretending you don't hate me. You know the truth now. I lied to you all."

"We know why you'd have done that lassie." Gimli says, holding his axe out before him, careless of the blood that wets the curved edge. And just like Legolas, he has no problem with holding her gaze.

"You should be angry at me. You should hate me." She said, even though the mere idea of it sent a searing pain through her gut.

"Stop punishing yourself." Legolas said and this time, there is an undertone of anger there.

Unable to answer, Lyra pressed her knuckles against her closed eyes until white fireworks exploded behind them.

It was Gimli and his words that were a deluge of cold water on the growing fire inside her. "We can't do this now, not with Aragorn-" he broke off with something between a sigh and a groan.

If Lyra thought it was impossible to feel even worse, she was proven wrong. Aragorn. Roughly, she wiped the tears away. She didn't deserve them, not when everyone was dying. She was just so tired. If she could lie down and close her eyes and concentrate on nothing but the sun at her back…she came dangerously close to drowsing when one thought sent a bolt of electricity through her and left the ground beneath trembling.

"Where is Linus?" She asked. With no small amount of guilt, she realized her brother hadn't even crossed her mind. Gazing about wildly, she stumbled away. With no hesitation, Legolas and Gimli follow behind but she pays them no mind. She can't lose two, not both of them. But just like Aragorn, Linus is nowhere in sight. And she can't bear to begin searching the dead. He can't, can't, can't…

"There he is Lyra." Gimli is shouting and it takes a few seconds to hear him and even longer to understand, to see.

But there, galloping towards her is Linus, his dark hair strewn about his face, smudges of dirt darkening his skin. Alive. Black blood stains his shirt but she doesn't care as he dismounts and she throws herself at him, locks him tight in an embrace like he would disappear without her. Or maybe she would.

"Where did you go?" She demands, the worry in her voice masked as anger.

The way he holds her is surprised and slightly awkward but after he releases her, his fingers tap on his leg, jittery and unfocused.

"Tracking some of the wargs. A fair few got away." He frowned at her, seeing her clearly for the first time. "What's wrong with you?"

"They know the truth now." She shrugged, "Just thought I'd give you some warning. Prepare for everyone to hate you, maybe a few to try and kill you." She said with something he takes as sarcasm. But it's not, because she had a taste of that hate just moments ago and she is sure much more will follow.

"Your attempt at humor is terrible." He shook his head and winced at the movement. "Besides you forget that I'm already used to everyone hating me and a fair few trying to kill me."

She frowned at the way he was so easily able to fling those words. Then she realized it was because they were probably true. "I don't hate you."

"You're my sister. You have a choice." He said, but there was a trace of a smile on his lips.

"Legolas and Gimli don't hate you." She added.

He peeked at her, "How do those two manage to weasel their way into every conversation?"

The smile on her face felt tight and rigid, like the muscles there had forgotten how to behave. He seemed pleased with her reaction. She knew he didn't have much experience with comforting others. Of course, that comfort was ruined by his next words.

"When this war is over, most humans will be dead anyway."

"Linus, that's a terrible thing to say." She said, but it is simply reflex, with nothing stronger behind it. Because Aragorn was gone and she had sworn it would never happen, that there was nothing strong enough to take him from her. And Arwen…what would her sister think? She has the strangest desire to just sit down and close her eyes, right in the middle of the field. This could all be a bad dream. But the pain radiating inside her proves it's not and there's no escaping life. Not unless she wants to die.

"Maybe, but that doesn't make it any less true."

She glanced around at the men, still gathering the wounded together. The dead would be left there and those still clinging to life were hauled onto horses, giving cries of pain that was impossible not to hear. Funny how long ago the battle seemed. She looked around and wondered how many would be left after everything was done. If she would be left.

* * *

Legolas' hands were tighter against her waist then they should have been. Not that she minded. In only a few hours, the sun had disappeared behind the mountains in the distance, taking any trace of warmth with it. The plains transformed at night. In the harsh daylight, everything was so clear and open, every space in sight lit up from a golden sun. At night, a sudden gloom had descended with little preamble. Men's eyes seemed to glow like wolves against the harsh backdrop of utter darkness.

Gimli and Linus were in the small group behind them, grumbling once again about sharing a horse. But Legolas at her back kept her sheltered from view. For reasons that were no longer such a mystery, it made her feel better, safer, being able to hide there, away from watchful eyes.

The shivering had started an hour ago, small tremors that ran through her very core, freezing from the inside out.

Fear or shock. The chill of a land without sunlight.

But Lyra doubted it made much difference. She had been left feeling numb since she had looked up and not seen Aragorn.

"What a horrible day." She whispered, shattering the small, heavy silence. The feeling of sadness and loss kept her mind stagnant but there was also anger, just under the surface fighting to come up for air. She felt Legolas pull her closer, a dormant reflex that had reared its face so often recently.

"Go to sleep Lyra. Get some rest."

"I'll never be able to sleep out here." She breathed, glancing around at the men to find several were busy studying her. She looked down quickly and studied her hands that were gripped tight together. Lyra always hoped to be brave. Her father was brave as were her brothers. Even Arwen was fearless, though she was given few chances to prove it. Lyra had fought orcs and cave trolls in the deep tunnels of Moria but surrounded by farmers, she trembled like a leaf in high wind. She couldn't be brave when it mattered.

"I'd never let them hurt you." His breath fanned her ear and a small strangled gasp escaped her throat.

"You shouldn't have to protect me." She replied but it was halfhearted as she pressed her back into his chest.

"I don't mind." He replied rather breezily and she thought she could feel his lips curl against her neck. Above her, stars dance and chase each other across a dark sky but she doesn't look up to watch them.

"My dreams were of Aragorn." The words were out of her mouth, a sudden breathy confession before she could help it. And she waits, because if he didn't hate her before he certainly will now. "Of him falling. They meant something. They were meant to stop it and I didn't." The words escape her in a rush, the need to make him understand. "I didn't stop it." She says and it's a sob now. She can fell herself falling apart right there and there's nothing to hold onto. Her body aches and it could be from the battle but she doubts it. It's something more, a weariness that threatens to drown her. Her spine turns into water and she's once again weak and crying and she hates it so much.

Legolas doesn't tell her it will be all right. Because it won't be and no pretty words can change that. But he does murmur comfort she won't remember in her ear, smooth her hair away from her face, presses his hands against her body. He keeps her pinned down to the world, even if she'll never remember any of it the next morning. Even though the world, her world is burning down. He keeps her there and she finds her lungs unfurl just a little more, just enough to take a deep breath. And then another.

In the end, Lyra had spoken truth. She never fell asleep on the plains of Rohan. She spent the entire night pressed against Legolas' chest, counting his heartbeats. It was the closest thing to feeling safe she had. It no longer bothered her like it once did- how he could make her feel protected without doing much of anything. There was one thought that did- she wouldn't be able to stay there forever. Sooner or later, the world would dig its sharp claws into whatever softness she allowed to show. Not that Lyra felt she had much to begin with.

She couldn't hide from it anymore. They all knew, which quite effectively took all options except one from her.

Lyra felt the knowledge settle around her shoulders, felt her back bow a little under the weight. She'll just have to carry it now. And that was that.

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So many awesome comments. I know a lot of you were in suspense from the ending of the previous chapter. Sorry about that…MMWWHAHAHAHA. Thanks again for everyone who commented. I really do look forward to them! I'll try to get another chapter out soon. Unfortunately, I caught a nasty virus that was going around and was laid up in bed for about a week. Now that I'm not feeling like death, I can concentrate on writing more. :)


	35. Sky Falling

_"_ _Both._  
 _I want to stay._  
 _I want to leave._  
 _I am three oceans away from my soul."_

 **-Ines Seidel**

* * *

The man whose eyes Lyra had felt on her for the past hour spat at her feet with a sneer that caused her heart to clench and plummet down into her stomach.

The realization of this stranger's hatred hurt just as much as the first had. The mask on her face held in place with every ounce of stubbornness she could muster but she still felt the blood drain from her cheeks. While she paled, Linus reddened.

It had been a day since the truth had come out. 24 meager hours that seemed to stretch on an eternity. Their group had arrived inside the walls of Helm's Deep just as the light faded into the sky and noise seeped back into the fabric of the world. It had been one day without an attack- either by orc or man. For the first time in her life, the likelihood that it would come from either side was even.

Would an orc kill her?

Would a man kill her?

And of course there was her murderous wizard of a father. A toss up if there ever was one.

The men mulling around hadn't touched her but they did stare and glare and looked at her as though she was the worst thing that ever dared draw a breath. Linus either had become so accustomed to these glowers that he didn't notice or he simply didn't care. Lyra favored it being the latter.

He did care however, when they turned their attention on her. Seizing his arm in a vice grip, Lyra tugged him away, afraid of what he would do to the man if given the opportunity. The last thing they needed was more blood on their hands. One step out of line, Théoden had promised. He would be looking for any excuse, she knew, and a fight between her brother and a guard over her would present him with all the reason he needed.

"It's fine Linus." She heard herself tell him, her voice a distant flimsy echo. The weight of a thousand eyes settled on her shoulders- whether real or imaginary it made no difference. Each one was a pinprick on her bare skin, drawing just a little more blood from her, weakening her veins and pulling her towards the floor a little faster. Her breath was coming in short gasps, strangled sounds escaping her throat that she couldn't seem to silence. She could taste it on the air- thick and clotting behind her throat. The air in her lungs turned stale and dry.

Shaking his anger off, Linus turned to her in concern. "Stop doing that." He ordered loudly, as if she could control it and was choosing to behave like a quivering child, and catching the attention of all nearby.

She longed for the towering figure of Legolas. He could hide her away from their eyes. Well, either Legolas or a tree. She doubted Gimli would help much in that regard.

After much convincing from her, the two had gone in search of food. The dwarf's stomach had growled so loudly that for a moment, she was afraid the wargs had returned. Lyra had adamantly refused to go to the eating halls. Just the thought of food sent her stomach in a sickening tumble. Legolas had looked ready to argue until he noticed the way she held her stomach and the pasty tinge that clung to her skin. Droplets of sweat ran down the back of her neck, creating trails of salt and damp stains on her collar.

She had assured them over and over that she would stay with Linus and enjoy the cool breeze while there was still some light left in the sky.

That she was an adult, capable of taking care of herself.

That she would be fine without them.

But she wasn't. She should never had left Rivendell. Should never have expected more of the world than there was.

Her three companions had succeeded in keeping her surrounded during their journey- a small encampment of protection. Now, with two missing, even for a few short moments, Lyra felt as jittery as when she had charged into battle.

It rolled over her in waves, each coming faster and harder than the last, making her head light and her bones hollow.

And then suddenly, like a punch to the gut, it was all too much.

She didn't say anything before turning and running away, ignoring Linus' calls behind her as they faded to the background, muted. Her feet carried her through the wide halls, crowded with women and children and barrels of food. And then she was on the stairs, tripping upwards, climbing, climbing.

She had to get away. They were all looking at her, through her. One man jarred her shoulder before muttering a hurried apology. He glanced at her over his shoulder, his smile sharp and pointed.

She wanted away. With something akin to a sob, she wretched one door open and slammed it shut behind her, panting in the silence.

Leaning her entire weight against the door, Lyra bowed her head and clutched at her chest.

Don't faint, don't faint. That would be embarrassing and there was no way to tell who would find her…

"Lyra?" She whirled upwards, scanning the room, her vision dancing with black spots at the sudden movement.

Don't faint. Don't faint.

And there he was, as if her need had conjured him from the air, rising in one swift motion and before she could draw in another strangled breath, his arms were there to steady her.

"What happened?" Legolas asked, his hands roving over her sides to search for injuries. She shook her head, unable to explain when she didn't fully understand it herself. She felt him grip her tighter, almost bruising. But that was okay- the pain kept her centered, kept her from tipping off the edge. "What's wrong Lyra?"

"Can-can you just hold me?" She asked, the panic breaking her voice. In any other situation, Lyra might have felt shame for displaying such weakness or at the very least embarrassment for what she was asking. But all she felt now was a desperate need to be held by someone who made her feel safe. She felt younger than she had in years and very, very tired.

He stared down at her in surprise for a few full seconds before opening his arms to her, as if he was unsure of what to do.

She took one step forward, her forehead meeting his chest and slowly, his arms came to rest at her back, drawing soothing circles there. His heat, always just a bit more intense than anyone else's, settled around her like a fog. She was barely aware when her tears started, only that Legolas' shirt had two small wet stains that she pressed harder against, trying to keep the small, broken noises coming from muffled.

She didn't know how long they stood there but eventually, little by little, Lyra's breathing grew less desperate and her eyes dried. Lyra's wasn't sure if it was her imagination or if Legolas used some elvish magic because when his arms tightened around her, the world faded away to nothing.

And every horrible thing that happened to her and to the ones she loved was silenced long enough for her to draw a full breath. It was okay, she told herself. In reality, she knew the obvious truth was that it wasn't okay. But she still had this, still had him, and that meant enough for her to give one last sniffle and straighten.

When she finally deigned to pull away, her body felt both light and heavy at once.

The embarrassment that had remained at bay now surged forward like an angry dam breaking. Staring down at the floor, she started to apologize, feeling herself redden. "I'm-"

"Don't you dare." Legolas interrupted her, his voice colored with a rough edge that Lyra thought she could feel reverberate through his chest, even though she was no longer pressed against it.

She managed a smile, "I don't know what it was." She rubbed at her eyes, "Everyone here hates me." A shudder passed through her, "How is it even possible for them all to know?"

"You're just imagining things." He said, causing her to blanch and chuckling at her expression before sobering. "Listen to you friends. Aragorn trusted and respected you." She fought the pressure behind her eyes threatening to escape. She was just so tired of crying, tired of feeling weak and helpless. "The hobbits worship you and even Gimli is clearly fond of you. If a dwarf is fond of any elf, that says something about the elf."

"Or about the dwarf." She grunted, taking a step back, settling herself once more against the closed door. "And what about you? How does the future king of the Woodland Realms feel about me?" She asked, wondering how the words had found their way out of her mouth in the first place. The emotions on his face were brief flashes, one replacing the next too quickly for her to be sure of, flickers of a candle in the breeze before a gust extinguished it. Shock, fear, uncertainty, want. It was all gone before she could blink, leaving her to winder if she had imagined it after all.

"Are you angry with me?" She asked hurriedly when it became clear he was incapable of answering, searching for familiar footing. And if there was one thing they were most comfortable with, it would be picking a fight with the other. It might even be soothing in a cathartic sense, her thoughts trailed off as she gazed up at him almost sleepily.

He looked surprised and blinked rapidly, centering himself once again. "Why would I be?"

"We never really talked about it- about me lying to you. My secrets." She fought the urge to look down again and forced herself to meet his gaze.

"I'm not angry. But, I wish you would have trusted me with the truth."

She hung her head and nodded weakly. Somehow the words said so cautiously hurt worse than if he ranted and raved.

"Good then, we won't make that mistake next time." He said, apparently taking pity on her crestfallen appearance. "You'll trust me with truth, no matter what."

A question burned its way through her mind, forcing her to give life to it, "Do you still trust me Legolas, even after all this?"

"There aren't many people I trust more. And that list grows smaller with time."

She felt the prickle of shame creep up her spine, hearing what was clearly unspoken. She wasn't the only person who lost someone. Aragorn had been special to them all, "Aragorn-"

"Was a mortal." He answered quickly. Too quickly. "Mortals die both with time or without it." He turned away from her, staring out the window with unseeing eyes. Hiding, Lyra knew. Hiding his pain from her, from them all. He was trying so hard to be strong enough for her. The least she could do was return to favor.

"He was your best friend." She said, reaching forward and taking his hand in hers. Legolas' fingers twitched in surprise but he didn't pull away. "Yes, he was." He said, shoulders bowing a little.

"I wish I could help you." She said, almost wistfully.

He shifted to face her, quirked an eyebrow.

"You've done so much for me." She clarified, "I'll never be able to pay you back."

"I don't want you to." He said, sounding almost offended.

"Well then, I just wish I could help you as your friend." She pressed, hoping he would tell her what to do.

"You do help me Lyra, more than you know." She felt something twitch inside her at his expression, the blunt honesty there.

"More than Gimli?" She teased.

"Is that even a question?" He smiled, a real smile. Lyra shrugged and turned her attention to the faceless crowd below them mulling about. Funny how they didn't seem so scary anymore, even if they did hate her, did fear her in some twisted way.

"I feel better now." She said. To her surprise, she found it was true. The weight of Aragorn's death still hung about her shoulders, all their shoulders. She doubted it would go away soon, if ever.

She was still tired and sore and her head ached something fierce. Her father was still her father. And the world around her was still so unfair.

But she could stand there beside him without feeling like the next breath would cause her collapse or go mad. She found he could still make her smile.

"You should get some sleep before tomorrow. I've arranged for you to stay with Eowyn." Legolas prompted after a few moments, noting how she had begun to waver on her feet.

"I can't stay with you?" She asked and blushed when she saw his eyes widen. "And Gimli and Linus too." She added belatedly.

"I thought you would have wanted some privacy after all this time with us…males." He seemed to have a hard time making sense and Lyra felt a trill of amusement at his obvious discomfort.

Legolas looked like he wanted to say more but then he took a step back, away from her. His fists were balled at his side, like the movement had taken a great deal of strength.

Deciding to take pity on him, she nodded. "Alright then."

"I'll take you there. But first-" he ruffled through a pack at his feet and produced a soft white shirt. With no preamble, he thrust it into her arms.

When she looked up at him quizzically, he rolled his eyes. "You don't have your pack."

Lyra had glanced around, as though expecting it to appear from the air. "Oh."

The thought hadn't even entered her mind that her pack now lay forgotten somewhere on the empty plains of Rohan, probably buried under some stinking orc corpse. She hugged his shirt to her chest and nodded, unable to express how much that little offering meant to her. It was silly, just a clean shirt, but as he led her through the halls, she felt like a priceless object had been presented to her.

He was taking care of her; they all were. And small things like being able to sleep in clothing free of blood meant just as much as when he had given her his bow. It wasn't patronizing in the least, she was surprised to find, and she contented herself to follow after him in silence.

By the time Legolas stopped suddenly in front of her, Lyra proved she was dead on her feet by smacking right into his back. She rubbed her nose and aimed a weak glare towards him that he promptly ignored. Legolas gave three sharp knocks on Eowyn's door and practically pushed her through the entrance, knowing she would have very well remained there the entire night. She didn't stop to wonder why he suddenly needed to be away deciding she would worry about that tomorrow. In the end, she hadn't even been able to thank him. When she turned around to try, he was already gone, leaving her to face the sole occupant of the room.

"Legolas said I'm to stay here." She began, taking a hesitant step forward.

"Come in then." Eowyn said, turning back to the mirror and continuing with the process of brushing her hair. The movement was strangely hypnotic in the glow of dim candles, the flick of her wrist as she tugged the brush through her golden strands, the ways she would sigh when she hit a knot. Lyra brought her hands up to her own mess of tangles and grunted.

Lyra closed the door behind her with a soft click and shuffled forward. The room was nothing special- just two beds and a small washroom attached. But it was dry and warm and the bed looked like the most beautiful thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

A long silence descended as she kicked her boots off and sat down on the edge of the feathered mattress. It was impossibly soft and sunk underneath her weight, beckoning her to sleep. The temptation to cover herself with the blanket and hide from the rest of the world was strong but she forced herself to grab the shirt Legolas had given her and stand.

Lyra teetered towards the small washroom. The image of a girl, somehow pale even with splatters of blood and dirt that dirtied her face, copied her sluggish movements in the clouded glass. The purple under her eyes could have been smudged dirt but the way her eyes begged to close proved differently. The precious few hours of sleep she had been able to snatch the last several days were a distant memory.

Lyra shrugged out of her shirt, wincing at the way her ribs creaked. Her skin bore the beginning of a massive bruise- smatterings of yellow and brown that she knew would soon turn to darker shades of blue and purple. Of course it was only after she saw the injury that it began to ache, that she remembered falling of a horse. Lyra used her dirty shirt to wipe away most of the blood from her arms- a dirty mixture of red liquid and black thick orc blood that had grown dry and crusty. Flakes of it fell to the floor but she was too tired to wipe it up. Valiantly attempting to avoid her reflection in the mirror, Lyra shrugged into Legolas' shirt. It was far too big and hung down close to her knees. But it was clean and soft and smelled familiar.

Lyra brought the sleeve up to her nose and inhaled.

Somehow finding her way back to the bed, she sighed and tumbled in gracelessly. Eowyn still remained seated before a small mirror, still brushing her hair and staring dazedly at her reflection. Absentmindedly, Lyra wondered if this was some courtly ritual. She pictured Arwen tugging a brush through her hair one hundred times. And then a hundred more.

Human women were strange, she decided.

She had just closed her eyes and settled into the softness around her when Eowyn broke the silence. "My uncle is afraid for his people."

Lyra blinked and turned to look at the girl, her movements sluggish and heavy.

For a moment, Lyra thought she might be dreaming, but then Eowyn continued "He's not a bad man. He's actually a very good one." The woman told her, her brow now wrinkled with unnamed emotion.

"Alright." Lyra said, confused and unsure of where she was headed.

"No, it's not. Eomer told me about you, just before he was taken away." She clarified, shifting her gaze to find Lyra in the mirror. "You've been through enough. You don't deserve what happened out there."

"Thanks." Lyra whispered, finding it hard to swallow. A small, buried part of her was hopeful. It was only one person, her mind berated her; one person shouldn't matter so much.

But it did.

Lyra's eyebrows furrowed in the darkness as she pulled the blanket tight up to her chin. She guessed that showed how bad things had gotten.

* * *

Despite her fatigue, Lyra doubted she would be able to find sleep that night. She was too tired to sleep, having passed the point of exhaustion and arrived in completely new territory. It sounded stupid, she knew- being too tired to sleep. But lethargy clung to her like a weight and her entire body was sore as if her muscles had been hastily removed and then shoved back in all the wrong places.

Reality was quite the opposite. Almost as soon as Eowyn had blown out the single candle whose illumination Lyra had remained transfixed at, it came over her like the darkness- swift and complete and leaving her once again out of control, thrusting her into the world of dreams. They started like all the ones before had- full of fallen friends and regret. Horrible nightmares whose images faded after she'd opened her eyes but that left her afraid regardless.

And then, just before she woke, there was a trace of hope that burned the gloom away long enough for her to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. He lay on the lake of peddled shore- eyes closed- as the water lapped the blood away from his body. And as his chest rose to take a breath, Lyra woke with a gasp.

She knew what she had to do then- knew it with every bone in her body.

Lyra waited a few torturous hours more, until most of the torches had been put out and everyone except for the midnight watches were asleep. Although her eyesight was not as good as a full elf's, she could easily find her way about in the dusk. Eowny's deep breathing didn't falter once while Lyra stood and pulled her blood stained clothes on, slid her blade in its sheath and tied it to her side. She slipped out of their room and jogged down the hallways, darting this way and that and hiding in shadows when she heard approaching footsteps. Despite the masses of people crowded into the keep, the outside proved to be deserted. There were only a few solitary guards, yawning and every now and then throwing gazes about, despite not being able to see more than a few feet away.

For a long time, she wavered between going alone and alerting her friends.

But would they believe her? And if they didn't, if they told her it was just a dream like she suspected they would, she knew they would never let her go off into the plains where wargs prowled.

In the end, the chance was too great. They would be angry, she knew, furious. Even as she tapped her fingers impatiently along the wall where she waited, she dreaded their reaction when she returned.

If she returned.

She could find her way back to the battle following the tracks the horses left, she reasoned. Aragorn would be near there. Under the cover of darkness, getting there would be doable. Finding him would be a challenge. But when the sun rose, getting back unseen- that would be a miracle.

A small flimsy stable, set apart a ways from the cliff face, housed all the horses. A telltale snore from behind stacks of hay told her that the watchman had fallen asleep. It gave her a few uninterrupted moments to search through for her pick, giving small pets to each one and shushing them in a gentle voice when they gave welcoming whinnies. In the end, she chose a dark brown stallion that she hoped would blend in with the night.

"You and me are going for a little ride." She said, patting his strong neck and smiling when he butted her, as if in agreement.

After scrounging together several long rags, she tied them to his hooves, muffling his steps as she led him out from the cover of the stable. It was several long tense minutes before they were able to arrive outside the keep. They slipped by the final guard, making no more sound than a shadow would. And then they were outside, free.

Helm's Deep towered silent and guarded behind her, blending into the sharp rocks that encompassed it.

Turning her back on it, Lyra lifted herself in the saddle, and urged the horse towards the emptiness ahead.

"I'm coming Aragorn." She promised, unable to keep the smile from her face.

What a stupid mistake, she thought, assuming the dreams were a curse.

They were a blessing. They meant something. And now, she realized, was time to prove it. Hope was burning a hole in her chest as she galloped away. The dreams weren't condemning Aragorn; they were meant to help her save him.

It was only seconds before the darkness swallowed both girl and horse whole.

* * *

RLMz- Suspicions hmmm? Interesting... :) I actually did watch the first season of Poldark! Thanks so much for the referral though. It is a good show. I'm currently watching Walking Dead; it's got me hooked. I'm a big Daryl fan..swoons. I actually am working on a Loki fanfic but I'm afraid it's gonna be on hold until I finish this one. I think working on two at the same time would mean they would both be SUPER slow to update. I'm really glad you like my writing enough to continue reading. It means a lot!

Rainrushingwindowpain- OH MY GOSH, your review made me smile so much! I am a sucker for good reviews and you give me some great ones that keep me encouraged. I hope you liked this chapter too.

Laradith- I'm glad you liked the quote. I've been into poetry recently so I try to add some good ones on there. Doesn't being sick suck? Ugh. I was so happy you were fangirling. I love hearing stuff like that! As for the kiss…..mwahahaha it will come soon enough….maybe. Evil laugh.

Arasa- It is starting- very slowly but I promise we will get there. Hold on just a little longer and I promise- hopefully- it will be worth it.

Also, just a head's up. I will soon be returning to earlier chapters and editing them. So if you see a new chapter from me, it might not be a technically new one. I'm still gonna try to get the new ones out in a timely manner though. But some of the earlier chapters have little thing that I cringe at when I read so I've been meaning to tidy them up just a bit.


	36. Wild Animal Inside

" _I am aware that I am less than some people prefer me to be, but most people are unaware that I am so much more than what they see." —_ **D. Pagels**

* * *

Pippin's hope was dwindling faster than he suspected was fair. With being captured by orcs, separated from his friends, being hunted by Uruk-hai, and forced to listen to Treebeard for days on end, Pippin was experiencing a rather demanding month.

Even now, in relative safety, surrounded by a council of forest guardians, Pippin still couldn't catch a break. He was thankful that he and Merry had spent a few days with Treebeard before being thrust into a crowd of Ents.

Seeing one Ent had been a shock. Dozens of them- Pippin suspected his heart might have quit.

Now though, tucked between them, with their branches towering above and roots twisting below, it was strange how unspectacular it had all become. Talking trees. Although, he suspected that had to do more with their personalities than appearances. Sam would be better suited to convince them. He was, after all, fairly adept with things that grew slowly. Or talked slowly.

A gardener of the highest caliber. Though, he doubted gardening had much use for them now.

The grassy clearing was packed full of Ents, but it was Merry's voice that continued to ring out loudest. Every so often, the trees would revert back to their language- the groaning of roots and the twisting of branches, sounds that were so familiar, sounds he had heard in the Shire a thousand times without giving them a second thought.

Pippin contented himself with sitting off to the side and nodding fiercely in agreement whenever Merry made a good point. Points that still seemed to have little to no effect on anyone else. They remained unchanged and unfazed, seemingly oblivious to anything around them. Purposefully oblivious, he decided.

"But you're part of this world, aren't you?" Merry demanded, frustration written plainly across his face.

Looking at him then, Pippin barely recognized his friend. Where had the hobbit gone who cared for nothing more than a cupboard full of pipeweed?

Where was the one who would have agreed that plunging head first into adventure was reckless? Something that only men and elves were foolish enough to try.

He was left to wonder just when his cousin had left him behind, when he had grown so far beyond the point that Pippin seemed to be eternally stuck at.

The trees' heavy silence was the only reply to the lingering question, still unanswered. But it wasn't really a question. It was a demand. He could feel it in them- wavering just like he could smell when rain was near.

But in the end, after all the discussion, all the words he hoped would sway them into action, the answer remained the same.

It was too dangerous. But then, what wasn't nowadays?

Didn't they know without their help, it would be impossible?

For the first time since Merry had begun his struggle at persuasion, Pippin let out a breath, took another deep inhale, let it fall from his chest.

Although ashamed to admit it, Pippin was the smallest bit relieved at the Ents' answer. It released he and Merry from this quest.

There was nothing more they could do. Except forget it all and go home.

A soft bed. Plenty of pipe weed. Food. Ale. Warmth.

Safety.

Of course he didn't let any of that show when Merry found him. The fervent spark in his eyes that had kept Pippin fixated only moments before had diminished altogether. Shadows under his eyes had become a permanent fixture, but now they seemed to deepen and branch outwards. If Pippin squinted, he suspected he could spot the rivers of blue and green veins under papery skin. Two hobbits, falling apart, one from the inside and one from the out- Pippin thought grimly, with a grind of his jaw.

"Maybe he's right. We've got the Shire." They could forget all this- the things that felt far too heavy for his shoulders to hold. They could go back to who they were before, forget everything. Go back to lives centered around simple things like stealing from Farmer Maggot instead of fighting to staying alive. Instead of seeing too much red. Losing too many friends.

Merry turned to him, a bleak sadness in his eyes that darkened the forest around them, casting the shadows into a sinister light

"There won't be a Shire, Pippin."

Pippin waited for the words to fill him terror, to overwhelm his body. He waited for the anger, the denial. But it never came.

It wasn't possible. A world with no Shire-

And then Pippin was filled with the knowledge of the things they'd be leaving behind, the people he'd abandon just to get home, just to get away from what he was too weak to face.

Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn, Lyra. Frodo and Sam.

And the sacrifices that would mean nothing. Boromir and Gandalf.

 _You must not be afraid to hope Pippin._ Gandalf's advice came back even though he wished it wouldn't. It made everything so much harder, more complicated. Because more than anything, that was what scared him most. Hope. Such a fickle thing, so prone to disappearing when you need it most.

Turning your back on friends it seemed was just as difficult as running straight into danger, into a world much too big for a simple hobbit.

No matter what he believed or how brave he strove to be, he and Merry were no match against the evil of Saruman. Or against the stubbornness of Ents. But Pippin found he could hardly blame the trees for their decision. It wasn't as if they had seen what he and Merry had. It wasn't as if they had lost friends.

He couldn't change Treebeard's mind. Not with words at least.

But maybe, maybe…

* * *

Pippin caught the smell of smoke the same time it enveloped his skin in a deceivingly gentle embrace. He breathed it in like incense, found his heart slowed to a steady beat. Hours had passed and his hope had begun to dwindle that the smoldering scent might exist. Everything depended on it.

Treebeard was moving faster now, making his way towards where the wafts of dark tendrils curled into the air with a speed the hobbit had yet to witness.

It was all just how Pippin hoped it would be- what had clearly been a part of the forest where thick green trees had once stood now lay empty and blackened and burnt, with smoke still climbing weakly from the ground.

Treebeard's branches quivered beneath them, shaking the hobbits with its force.

"These trees were my friends." He breathed, the landslide of rocks contained in his voice, falling.

A wave of white guilt drenched Pippin from head to foot. He had known what was waiting here and led Treebeard into it happily enough. Even worse, he had been hoping to discover the devastation because it meant Treebeard would have no choice but to fight.

Maybe he had changed just as much as Merry had.

But maybe for him, the change wasn't as good. He wasn't as good.

Pippin imagined how it would feel to discover his friends broken on a battlefield- their ashes clogging the air. He shivered in the dark images; forced them out with a shaky exhale.

"I'm sorry Treebeard." Pippin said, and meant it.

His stomach heaved a little at the smoke that he realized were from living things, as real as he and Merry. His hand tightened on one of Treebeard's branches, hoping the pressure might be comforting. The Ent didn't even notice. His eyes, wide with the agony of losing everything, began to fill with something else too. Pippin had seen it often enough to recognize it. Rage.

Rage at Saruman, at this stupid war that had taken over their whole lives.

A war for all he knew could very well end their lives all too soon.

The hatred was a welcome distraction as was the adrenaline pumping violently through his veins. The incessant fear that had previously overawed Pippin's mind had retreated to a small dark corner, content to weaken in the shadow of newfound emotion.

Resolutely, Pippin felt Treebeard turn towards the dark pointed tower that seemed to pierce the sky, fixed it with a studying stare. Orthanc waited, silent and dangerous, foreboding in the utter calm. And deep inside its dark halls, concealed something ever worse. Saruman.

It was impossible. Two hobbits and a bunch of trees. Against a wizard.

Impossible. Treebeard took one crashing step forward, bring the towers just a little closer. Another step. Merry glanced up at Pippin, nodded once.

Impossible.

Pippin held on tight until the unforgiving fractures in Treebeard's bark cut into his hands, the sharp sting causing him to blink, pulling him back.

Impossible, but still... even a Took could hope.

And somewhere close behind, an army followed.

* * *

Ugh, ugh, ugh. This one was tough. For some reason, I just couldn't seem to get into the groove of writing it. Pip's chapters are normally pretty short but I will have a new one up soon. Leave me a review and let me know what you think! Hope you ll have a wonderful weekend.


	37. On The Brink Of It All

_I find over the course of our human existence_

 _One thing consists of consistence_

 _And it's that we're all battling fear_

 _Oh dear, I don't know if we know why we're here_

 **Twenty One Pilots- Car Radio**

* * *

Once again, Lyra released a sigh of relief that it hadn't yet rained. The sound was lost in the wide nothingness spread out before her, floated away on a sudden gust of wind.

Her gaze, when not fixed on the trail below her, sent pointed glares at the clouds above, as if they could sense her anger and act accordingly.

The air, though heavy with the scent of water, had yet to release the deluge it promised. The sky grew darker and darker, even though the sun had risen only a few hours ago.

If it rained, the tracks of men, wagons, and horses- both those leading her to Aragorn and those that would lead them back again to the safety of Helm's Deep- would be turned into mud, identical to everything around it.

The smell reached her before she caught sight of the corpses. If anything, the thick lingering stench of copper had grown more putrid, an edge of slow steady decay. Men, orcs, wargs, and horses were thrown around the field, the bodies having grown cold and hard during the night.

Ignoring the carnage, she turned the horse to follow the river, holding her breath, trying not to let the remains of the dead creep inside her mouth. The deep water flowed strong and impatient, jagged little white waves that brushed against the shore almost tenderly. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was back at Rivendell, back to a time where she had clambered up a waterfall, only to get knocked back down, back when everything started.

Almost angrily, she tore her thoughts away. This was no time to be reminiscing. The sound of the water helped comfort her mind. The quiet of the wide plains had been roaring its silence at her, a muteness so complete it was dizzying.

The river must have carried him further and further still; that was the only explanation, she told herself over and over.

That was the only reason for not finding him yet. Anything else was too painful to consider, especially the flashes of a dead body, no longer the man she knew, submerged in dark water. The conclusion of nightmares.

In the end, Lyra almost missed him. A small innocent cove hid his body from sight, everything but a single boot that floated on top of the water, bobbing back and forth. Not moving, just allowing the tide to do what it willed, complacent and lapsing.

Jumping from the saddle, she stumbled down the ravine, slipping on the loose soil, sending her to her hands and knees. Her palm lands on something hard and sharp- a rock perhaps. She felt the skin there burst, as a little warmth snakes across her wrist. But she pressed on, ignored the pain. Any remaining strength in her legs vanished when she reached his side and her knees buckled. He was far too still for her liking.

Lyra turned him over in a frenzied rush, both eager and afraid of what she might find. The moment stretched on torturously long until his eyelids fluttered open. She gave a quick exhale of relief, her hands shaking, cupping his jaw, running her fingers gently over his forehead where old blood cemented long hair to clammy skin. She felt his chest dip as he shuddered in a shaking breath, tried to speak, failed. Tried again.

"Arwen?" His voice was uncertain as his blue eyes flickered over her face.

"No, it's Lyra." She answered, trembling as much as he was. Anxiety, nervousness, excitement all fusing together to create something new, something that made her skin itch.

Aragorn blinked hard, unfocused and distorted. "What are you doing here?" He slurred.

She felt her eyebrows rise in surprise and even amusement. "What are you doing here?" she turned back on him, eyeing the river his bottom half was submerged in.

"I think I fell." He replied tiredly, giving a half hearted shrug that left him wincing in pain.

She couldn't help the giggle that bubbled from her lips. The swirl of emotions warring within her had silenced, leaving only an overpowering feeling of relief. He was _alive._ Now that he was _here, breathing, safe_ , she felt the strangest desire to throttle the man. Instead, she stood, hooked her hands under his arms and began to pull.

Grunting, she hauled him away from the water's edge. With slightly shaking fingers, she studied the slice on his upper arm, wincing at the torn flesh and the slow lazy trickle of blood that refused to stop.

"It's not that bad. When we get back, I can clean it up." she said.

"Where are the others? Are they alright?" He asked, his tired eyes pinning her with seeming difficulty. Wild black irises were blown open, overtaking the blue, giving his disheveled image a more wild look.

"They're fine. We made it to Helm's Deep." Her voice was crisp and optimistic, urging him not to push any further.

But knowing Aragorn, he didn't listen.

"Lyra." Her name was a soft sigh and slight admonishment.

"I might have snuck out to come and find you." She admitted, not feeling at all guilty at the moment. Aragorn was safe. She would take any punishment to ensure that.

"So troublesome." This time, there was an undercurrent of teasing and affection as he looked at her, smiling despite being waterlogged and covered in grime.

She pulled him to his feet, slowly, careful not to jostle his already sore body, covered in small scrapes and blooming spots of blue and purple. He leaned heavily on her shoulder, nearly sending them toppling down again.

She felt the blood in his shoulder seep into hers, pushing a dark stain into her own shirt.

Still, she didn't care. It was ruffled from sleep, covered in dirt. Spots of black, suspiciously blood like stains, speckled the sleeves. A fanciful notion struck her that she just might want to burn it. That sounded satisfying- watching the flames eat away at the material, slowly turn it to ashes. Later, of course.

Gritting her teeth, she dug her feet into the ground, was able to gasp out in what she hoped was a cheerful tone, "What do you say we go to Helm's Deep?"

"Sounds good to me." He grunted, eyelids half closed and heavy laden.

As gently as she was able, Lyra steered Aragorn up the hill, half dragging and half pushing him. The tall man stumbled occasionally as his feet caught on things that weren't there. She tried unsuccessfully not to waver under his weight. But eventually, after murmured encouragement that he probably didn't need or even hear, they both made it up the hill.

The brown stallion waited where she had carelessly abandoned it; the long leather reins hanging at his side, untethered. Softly, Lyra gave a swift curse at her own impatience.

She took a slow step forward, stretching her hand out. He took a hesitant step away, pawed at the ground. Figured.

"Come on horsey." Lyra called, instilling as much honey in her voice as possible. If the horse bolted now, they would be lost.

"Brego." Aragorn said, his warm breath ticking her ear.

When she gave him a questioning look, he clarified, "Eowyn told me his name back in Edoras."

Lyra bit her lip and nodded once.

"Lyra, I'm-"

"I'm sorry Aragorn." She blurted out, before he could offer the apology she knew she didn't deserve. "I should have trusted you. I'm sorry for what I said." Lyra wasn't even aware tears had fallen until Aragorn's calloused fingers gently swept them away, albeit shaking slightly.

"Lyra, as much as I appreciate your apology, I feel like I might pass out soon." His words overlapped, "and you'll never be able to get me on that horse."

She laughed, the tightness in her chest dissipating, letting her breathe again.

"Come here Brego." She corrected, holding one hand out for him to sniff.

After a brief moment of hesitance, the horse stepped forward, allowing her to grasp his reins.

"What a good boy." She praised, stroking his strong neck. The tight muscles underneath trembled but he calmed, lowered his head to allow her ministrations.

It was with no small amount of struggle that Lyra was finally able to secure Aragorn on Brego's back. The ranger was heavier than he looked and the chainmail he still wore did nothing to help that.

She quickly mounted behind him before nudging Brego forward. Her arms encompassed Aragorn's much larger form to keep him from tumbling sideways.

Miles of ground had passed beneath and still they pressed on, the scenery before her a mirror image of what lay behind her. The sun found its way from behind clouds and hovered in the sky. Aragorn had either passed out or fallen asleep in front of her. She simply focused on keeping him upright, which was hard enough when his head kept slipping to the side. Once, it jerked back and hit her straight in the nose. Grumbling, she rubbed the soreness away on his shoulder. What came from him might have been a weak chuckle or a grunt of pain.

That's how they continued for what could have been hours. For Lyra, the time was spent torn between relief that Aragorn was alive in her arms and trepidation for the reception that awaited her back at Helm's Deep.

Hours slipped through her fingers like water, like all the others before it. Silent. Still. Calm.

And then…

At first, Lyra thought it was nothing.

Just a little more than nothing.

A slight shudder in the ground- merely the product of getting too little sleep.

A growing distant roar in her ears- the result of her overactive imagination.

Or the affect of the sun overhead, bathing them in liquid golden heat.

It wasn't until Aragorn's muscles tensed under her hands and began scanning the plains with a deep worrying crease that she pulled Brego to a sudden halt.

"Do you hear that?" She asked, neglect for the past several hours causing her voice to waver and crack.

He nodded, "You're the only one who came after me?"

"I didn't tell anyone else." She began, cautiously turning Brego towards the noise. "But they wouldn't have sent the entire army out after us."

The sound, so slight and excusable before, grew until Lyra felt the ground beneath her tremble.

With each step, her unease grew, transforming into something darker.

And then Sophie heard something that sent a shudder through her. Black Speech.

The ominious words, rough and cutting in their edges, echoed back, dirtying the air. Sophie felt a tight sting tighten her chest, lacing up through her heart and snaking back down again.

It didn't take long after that for the trio to come upon the source.

Her mind, crawling with possibilities, went deliciously blank and numb at the sight that greeted her. And then the overeager hungry fingers of panic began to claw their way inside.

Even so, she struggled not to react. Instead, she pulled back on Brego's reins, praying none would notice the solitary figures that slowly receded behind a small rise. Prayed they might remain hidden from sight.

There were so many, too many.

Never before in her life had Lyra heard of these numbers of orcs gathered. She didn't suppose many had- that were left living at least.

They marched across the plain, leaving the grass behind them indented with their heavy footsteps.

This was no rabble sneaking about in the tunnels of Moria, content to fester in the darkness. This was an army, devastatingly vast, stretching over the dips and hollows with more coming every second.

"There are thousands." She said, somehow afraid the horde would be able to hear her faint whisper over the thunder of a thousand voices.

Aragorn mirrored the same shock and horror that she felt.

"They're heading towards Helm's Deep. But we only have what, 300 men?" She estimated in her mind, trying to recall the men that guarded the fortress. There were far too few that she could call to memory. The walls of Helm's Deep that seemed so secure in their towering height, began to waver in her thoughts. Her head, suddenly a heavy weight on her shoulders, spun until she bit back the retch that fought inside her throat.

No, that couldn't be right. It wasn't possible. She willed the reality to recede, but her mind simply unfolds, inviting the sharp terror that buzzes like angry hornets inside her head.

Because that would be no battle.

It would be a slaughter.


	38. A Little Faith

" _Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish." -_ **Herman Hesse**

* * *

To her mounting horror, Lyra found that the herald who declared their arrival possessed a very carrying voice. Her relief as they stepped through the gates had been quickly replaced by the announcement that in fact, resonated over the entire breadth of Helm's Deep and all that lived within.

It was only a few moments before she found herself at the center of a sea of faces and bodies, eagerly pushing forward to catch a glimpse of the two that in their minds, had returned from the dead.

But there was one face in particular that stuck out to her. Maybe it was because he stood taller than the rest or perhaps it was the distinctly inhuman way he wove through those around him.

But Lyra didn't think so.

Instead, she reasoned, her mind had latched onto his image because he looked very, very angry and not at all happy to see Aragorn.

Or rather, to see her.

Hesitantly, she dismounted, whispering words of praise and the promise of oats into Brego's ears when she noted the weary droop of his eyes. Guards rushed forward, readily helping to pull Aragorn from the saddle. Lyra simply nodded her thanks, more focused on remaining upright. Her legs and arms were left numb as she shivered in the sudden absence of body heat.

"Go on." She encouraged him, "I'll find Gimli and Legolas." She said, worrying her lip at the prospect and valiantly trying not to stare at one elf flitting his way through the onlookers. For all her time spent dreading this moment, she had failed to prepare a worthwhile excuse.

"I'll find you after." He promised before leaving her with a gentle pat on the shoulder. Given her current relationship with Théoden, she trusted the news of impending doom would be taken better coming from another. She hadn't had the courage to tell Aragorn the entire truth- only that she and the king had a bitter disagreement- and luckily, he had either been too tired or kind to push the subject further.

"You stupid, stupid child." Were the words that greeted her when Legolas finally reached her side. And just like that, the fatigue that clouded her mind and slowed her movements fell away. Acting on pure instinct and feeding the flare of anger that sputtered to life inside her, Lyra turned, searching for an exit. Before she could take a single step, her arm was yanked back with a savage pull.

"Let go of me." She growled, forced to face him. But it was no use. His grip on her arm was iron and instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer still.

"Do you know what could have happened to you?" He hissed, gripping her jaw with his fingers, pulling her forward until she was forced to stand on her toes.

"I could have died." She snarled, taking into no account the men who were mulling around, shooting curious glanced between the two arguing elves. " _I_ could have died. Not you. What I do with my life is none of your business."

"It is my business." He growled, blue eyes turning into shards of ice even as his hot breath fanned her face.

She gaped at him and even though he looked surprised at his own words, he gave no inclination to take them back. Or to release her. A distant heat fettered through her veins, burned where his fingers held her chin.

"Did we not just have a conversation about trusting each other?" He asked, gentling. Lyra felt a shudder run through her as his thumb unconsciously traced a small circle against her skin.

Flustered by the sudden change in his demeanor, she fought to retrace her train of thought. "Yes we did, but-"

Bristling at her seeming lack of cooperation, he stiffened once more, "And you leave and go off alone-"

"But I-"

She saw, or rather felt, the muscles underneath his skin quiver. "Without telling anyone. Most of all me. Or Gimli." He added as a second thought.

"You should be thanking me." She was finally able to sputter out.

"What?" He stilled, and that moment was all it took for her to take one stumbling step backwards. Without his hands holding her in place, a strange sense of vertigo left her thoughts and body jumbled.

Ignoring the peculiar urge to touch where his fingers had been, Lyra gulped and pressed on, "I brought Aragorn back."

"You could have been killed in the process." He seemed to be restraining himself with a great amount of difficulty.

"But I wasn't!" she shouted, "Besides, I don't need your permission." She added, just to further prickle his already irritated disposition.

"This again?" he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

"What's going on here?" A voice behind her interrupted, effectively shattering the growing intensity. Both she and Legolas glanced back to find Linus looking decidedly displeased.

"This is none of your concern." Legolas dismissed him easily.

"My sister is my concern, more so than yours. My concern, my responsibility." Linus scowled, his handsome face turned colder.

"We take care of Lyra, ever since Rivendell. We all took an oath." Legolas pointed out, quick to include the dwarf who had just arrived.

Unlike Legolas, Gimli was clearly pleased to see her as his wide smile and telling laugh proved.

"Never doubted you for a second lass. Heard from the guards that Aragorn is back. Well done indeed." He clapped her on the back roughly, making her stumble a little under its force.

"Gimli, we are not here to congratulation Lyra on her stupidity." Legolas aimed a heated glare the dwarf's way.

"If I seem to remember correctly, my sister has been nearly killed at least a dozen times with you. Doesn't sound like the safest place to me." Linus said, looking pleased with himself despite the gravity of his words.

"Linus." Lyra chastised.

Legolas' hand tightened around her wrist but before he could retort, Gimli stepped in, looking apologetic nonetheless. "Listen here laddie, that wasn't our doing."

"It was your father's." Legolas snapped.

"Legolas, we're twins. Whatever you say about his father…" Lyra shrugged ruefully, giving another tug on her wrist.

"That man has nothing to do with you." He told her, with so much force that she flinched before he turned his gaze back to Linus. "Besides, you were in that cell with her. I don't see that did her any good." His words had become uneven, desperate in a way. "The state she was in when we found her-" he broke off, taking heavy breaths.

"I'm right here!" Thoroughly irritated, Lyra couldn't help but shout. All three turned to face her then, shocked into silence. And in that moment of brief silence, Lyra's stomach chose to let loose a loud growl of hunger. Placing her hand over it almost protectively, Lyra felt her flush of irritation transform into one of embarrassment.

"You're hungry." Legolas noted, almost surprised, finally deigning it appropriate to release her.

"Are you going to yell at my stomach for making noise without your permission?" She asked, turning away. The smell of bread swirled lightly through the air, teasing her senses. She took a few steps, following the scent and came to an abrupt halt. Only a step behind her, Linus, Legolas, and Gimli also paused. Waited. She felt her eyebrow give an involuntary twitch.

"You two aren't invited." She pointed a finger first at Legolas and then Linus. The former rolled his eyes and the latter frowned. "Gimli can come with me though." She fought a smirk as the dwarf puffed out his chest and gave the two elves a meaningful look before following after her.

"We're not done discussing this." Legolas called, looking disgruntled to be left behind with Linus.

"Find me when you're feeling more reasonable." She yelled back, throwing him a scowl over her shoulder.

To her surprise, Gimli was quick to defend the elf in his absence. "He was worried about you lass. You're constantly disappearing. As soon as he has you safe, you're off again."

"Why does he care?" She demanded, despite knowing deep down that she was being unfair. Together, they wandered through the Keep, Lyra following her nose and Gimli happy to trail behind, especially given the promise of food. "If anyone has the right to be overprotective, it should be Linus."

"I don't think brotherly protection is quite what's plaguing the prince." Gimli fought back a smirk.

"What then?" She cocked her head at Gimli, puzzled by the way he refused to meet her eyes.

"Well he-"

"What Gimli?" She prompted when the dwarf simply twiddled his fingers under his long beard and turned a delicate shade of pink.

"Bah, nothing. I'll let you two figure it out. None of my concern."

"Let us figure what out?" She whined and threw her hands in the air. Mainly so she wouldn't do anything foolish. Like try to strangle Gimli.

"I've never met such blind fools. Vision like a bird but you can't see what's right under your noses."

"I resent that." She growled, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest. To Gimli, she looked like she might never unfold.

"It looks as though our good fortune has run out." Gimli said, eyes fixed on something behind her. She was struck, completely transfixed by the sight that greeted her. "More elves." Gimli said, sounding thoroughly disheartened.

So intent on the strange way Gimli had been acting, she hadn't even heard the company of elves arrive. Sunlight glistened off their armor just as brightly as their golden hair. Not many, including Lyra, were able to disguise their fixation on the warriors. Surrounded by humans, their willowy grace was even more apparent.

She didn't have time to feel self-conscious of her disheveled appearance before a deep voice with a familiar accent called to her.

"Haldir!" She grinned at the towering Marchwaden and stomped his way purposefully, leaving Gimli to mumble things under his breath.

"Hello." She greeted him with a smile, took in the sturdy incline of his shoulders, the healthy glow of his skin. "I hadn't hoped to see you so soon."

"My lady." He gave her a small bow and an easy smile tugged at his lips. "Has there been an attack?" His eyes turned concerned as they grazed over her.

"Huh?" She followed his eyes downward; realization flooded her as she picked at Aragorn's blood from the sleeve of her shirt.

"Not really. Aragorn and I just got back." She said, feigning innocence and giving what she hoped was a careless shrug of her shoulders.

"Back from where?" He asked, all unwavering interest. She bit her tongue and fought the urge to scowl at his curiosity.

In reply, she waved her hand over the general area beyond the gate.

"What were you doing out there?" He inquired, with what she suspected was a trace of amusement.

"Oh you know…" Lyra trailed off, a little cowed under Haldir's scrutinizing gaze. If it were Legolas, she could just tell him to mind his own business. But this was Haldir and Haldir was nothing if not intimidating.

And then something over Haldir's shoulder caught her attention, saved her from a painful confession. She blinked and stared dumbly, frozen for a moment before breaking out into a run.

"Elrohir! Elladan!" She yelled, giving her brothers just enough time to turn and catch her as she all but tackled them. Her feet hung several inches from the ground as her brothers embraced her with laughter. "I've missed you two so much!" Her fingers dug into their back with bruising force but neither complained, even when her attempt to hug them both at once knocked their heads together.

She was quivering with the force of her emotions when they set her back on her feet.

"Look at our little sister- a warrior now." Elrohir noted, turning her this way and that to study the bow at her back.

"Legolas gave it to me." She said, standing a little taller, holding her head a little higher.

"Really? That was…kind of him." Elladan remarked, not looking at all pleased.

"How is Arwen?" She asked, the words tumbling out in a frenzied rush.

Elrohir's features darkened and he chanced a glance at Elladan. "Our sister is strong. She is- holding on."

"She'll be fine after we win the war, when Aragorn is back with her." Lyra told them with all seriousness, almost daring them to contradict her certainty. But neither did. Instead they smiled and nodded.

"And father." She swallowed her nerves down. "How is he?"

"Very worried about you."

She scuffed the tip of her feet in the ground. "I suspected he might be disappointed when I didn't remain in Lothlorien as planned."

"I don't know if disappointed is the right word for it." Elrohir gave a mischievous grin and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Lady Galadriel must have said something to him." Lyra began to chew her fingernail. "How angry are we talking about here? I tracked mud all over the house angry or stealing father's 500 year old wine and drinking it all angry?"

Elrohir coughed a laugh while Elladan seemed to consider her question. "Actually, it's a whole new level, quite spectacular to witness. Congratulations sister." He clapped her on the back as she paled, feeling sick to her stomach.

"Oh." She said weakly. Her attention was pulled back to the present when the weight of a stare burned her neck. It wasn't difficult to catch Linus' attention as he had been watching them from the corner of his eye.

"I want you guys to meet someone." She forced what she hoped was a believable smile on her face. _No time like the present._ She beckoned Linus forward with a small wave.

"Who's that?" Elladan asked, his eyes narrowing, taking in all the undeniable similarities between the two.

"My brother."

For the first time in her life, Lyra was witness to the twins struck dumb. In the silence, she could almost catch a glimpse of the chaotic clamoring of their minds. All in all, Lyra found the experience to be oddly satisfying.

* * *

Lyra pressed her fists against her forehead and released a heavy sigh that echoed in the emptiness around her. The meeting between her brothers and Linus had gone exactly as she expected it to. Linus had remained resolutely distant, while the twins had been far too intense in their attentiveness. It was with a deep feeling of relief when Elrohir and Elladan had been called away with Haldir. She chose that moment to make her escape, disappearing into the first empty room she could find. She just needed to think, try to make sense of the past few days. The past few weeks if she were being honest.

Her goal may have been using the solitude to come to grips with the past but all she found herself able to do was lean against the wall and sink to the floor in a jumbled heap. She was so _tired,_ which in itself was a blessing. She was too tired to think about what the immediate future would bring. Too tired to even manage worrying, something that recently had become almost second nature. Too tired to do anything other than stare at the wall opposite her and watch the shadows that stained it grow longer.

The unexpected peace of the moment was fragile, and she wondered what would shatter it first. The past several days had passed in a constant whirlwind of emotions and now, time had left her numb, as if everything had been flushed from her system.

It was nice in a way, calming. She leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes, felt the distant pull of sleep. The noise of the Keep and everyone within it dwindled to a hum, muffled by the thick blocks of stones that separated them.

She didn't hear the door creak open or the hesitant footsteps that paused near where she sat.

"Lyra." Strangely enough, her name was all it took, one word full of everything that remained unsaid. He knew; she could feel it. No doubt, Théoden had woven his lies, painted her as a monster. A traitor.

She felt her legs move, felt them wobble as she pulled herself to her feet, forced her eyes to meet his. In the stillness of the moment, she heard his heart beating, saw the thrust of blood that pulsed through his veins.

"You said you would fix my arm." Aragorn gestured to his still bloody shoulder as proof.

Out of everything, that had not been what she expected.

She blinked, shutting her mouth with an audible snap. "There are actual healers here."

"I know. I'm one of them." He cocked his head to the side, confused. "You did promise this morning."

"Well I was only saying that to make you feel better." She said, caught somewhere in between exasperation and disbelief.

He gave a small bark of laughter before dropping down on the bench she had just vacated with a sigh. "I trust you to do it." Without another word, he thrust a small leather pouch in her hands. Peering inside, she found meager contents that included only a needle, bandages, and a long spindle of string.

She settled beside him, glared hard at the wound on his arm and desperately wished she had paid more attention to lessons in Rivendell other than swordplay. More specifically, what to do after the battle was finished.

"Staring at it's not gonna fix it." The ranger watched her from the corner of his eye, appraising.

She took the needle in her hand to discover it was trembling. With a great deal of effort, she fished the thread through the minuscule eye and turned her body to face his.

"Whew." She wiped at her forehead, already exhausted. "Okay, how do I do this?" She asked, gesturing at the mess of torn flesh. The bleeding had almost fully stopped but thin red rivulets still seeped whenever he pulled at the skin.

"Have you never stitched someone before?" He asked.

She looked up at him with wide eyes and seemed to shrink away. "No."

"Oh." His eyebrows rose in obvious surprise, "I would have thought with your brothers..."

"As if they would let me near them with one of these." She replied, holding the needle up to the light and examining it in a considering fashion.

"Well, at least you're learning." He said, looking as if he was beginning to regret his decision.

"My willing test subject." She smirked, gently wiping at the flesh, brushing away the dirt and grime and small pebbles that had lodged themselves inside.

The first insert of metal through skin seemed to hurt her as much as him. She winced every time he did and demanded over and over that he find someone else.

"I'm going to mess it up." She whined, clamping her fists tightly in her lap and fought down the slippery knots that clenched and released in her stomach.

"Don't think you can much." He said, not entirely without humor. His sarcasm did exactly what it was intended to do- released the pressure that Lyra hadn't even been aware weighed between them. A more comfortable silence descended, the only sound her fingers gliding over his skin, gradually pulling it all back together.

"It's been a long journey." Aragorn noted. Even without the sleepy rasp that enveloped his voice, the way his eyes struggled to remain open betrayed his exhaustion.

"That it has." She agreed, not really paying attention, more concerned with the pulse of his blood, the wetness that spread onto her hands. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, pulled the string taut, brushed the scattered drops of blood away. Repeat. Again. Repeat.

"I want you to know-", he began, staring at the top of her head as she began to wrap his arm in a clean cloth, "that I trust you just as much as when we left Rivendell. Maybe even more." When her movements froze, she felt him shift, grow stiff, "For what it's worth."

For a second, her voice stuck in her throat, hollow and nonexistent before she swallowed and found the strength to respond, "It's worth a great deal." The words sounded fuzzy to her ears, as if they were coming from a great distance off. The pressure behind her eyes threatened tears but she swallowed them down.

Wiping her hands on her pants left bloody imprints but she didn't even notice. The smile she offered Aragorn wasn't forced at all.

Nether was the one he gave in return.

And in that moment, they could almost forget about the army marching their way, the forces that dwindled their own.

Almost push away the crushing responsibility of reality that lay on their shoulders.

Almost.

But in that single moment, almost was enough.

* * *

A huge thank you to everyone who left me a review on the last chapter. The kind things you guys say about my story always leaves me floored and really keeps me motivated to update.


	39. Spaces Between

" _O remember_

 _In your narrowing dark hours_

 _That more things move_

 _Than blood in the heart."_

 **-Louise Bogan**

* * *

Aragorn caught the sound of soft footsteps behind him a mere second before another set of arms settled next to his. Two lone figures stood in silence for a full minute, both gazing out over the barred entry of Helm's Deep. The loud clatter of wood and metal drifted up to them as guards feverishly nailed thick poles into the massive gate, attempting to wedge anything within sight against the entrance at a sharp angle.

Turning his attention towards his companion, Aragorn felt the furrow in his brow smooth. He held his tongue and despite the gravity of the situation, bit back a grin. The girl next to him was clearly uncomfortable and valiantly attempting to keep her silence. The weight of her gaze darted between his face and the activity below at a startling rate.

She had never been able to stay quiet for long, even as a child. He smiled at the thought- memories of her tugging at his armor, throwing herself into his arms, trying to steal his sword while her little arms hadn't even been able to raise the blade.

"Stop thinking of me as a little kid." Her voice broke him from fond reminiscing.

His eyes widened in comical surprise as he turned to face her. "How did you-"

"I know you." She smirked, "You've got that stupid grin on your face."

He gave a breathy laugh and shook his head.

"You need a haircut my friend." She announced, giving a small tug on the long dark locks that fell across his eyes. He brushed it away with an annoyed sigh.

"You volunteering?" He asked and turned to face her, scrunched his eyes against the glare of light still climbing towards its peak in the sky. Despite the intensity of the sun, the slightest breeze caused his body to tremble. It was harder than it should have been to convince himself that it was merely weakness lingering from injuries. Lyra had done a decent job of stitching his arm back together but the wound still seeped when the skin pulled. By the end of the upcoming fight, if there was anything left to him at all, he suspected that at the very least, he was in for another long session of biting back grunts of pain while Lyra fought to control her bile at the sight of blood.

"Arwen would kill me if I butchered it." She chuckled, stretching her arms over her head in a languid stretch and jerking his attention back. He bit back a wince at the pop of joints and the terrible crunch of bones rubbing together but Lyra only gave a relieved sigh.

"Much better." She purred.

"Legolas still angry?" Aragorn asked, the forced innocence in his words causing her to freeze.

She sniffed and tossed her hair almost haughtily over one shoulder. "Don't know, don't care." She claimed, adopting her features into a well practiced scowl.

"I suspect Elrohir and Elladan would talk to him if you asked."

"By talk you mean try to beat him into submission." She cringed at the thought. "That is not a conflict I'm eager to witness."

A terse silence weighted the space between them, full of words Lyra felt clambering behind her teeth.

"When you fell, when we all thought-you know," she shuddered, unable to utter the truth, "I kept thinking there was no way, that it couldn't be true." He glanced over at her, noted how the sunlight turned her skin into cream, how it lit up her hair like golden silk. "Because there was no orc that could ever kill you." She replied, overwhelming conviction in her voice that he had no idea what to do with.

Conviction of his worth, his goodness. Strength.

The final implication lingered between them, unspoken but echoing through all the empty spaces. _King._

"I still think that." She added gently, recognizing the burden her faith placed on him. But instead of weighing him down, he felt the words release a heaviness that he hadn't even realize had settled deep in the confines of his bones.

"Have I told you I'm glad you're here?" He asked, pulling her into a hug.

"No." She glared at him playfully, jabbing her finger into his stomach.

She giggled into his shoulder, the vibrations echoing against his breast. "Your beard tickles." She complained, pushing against him in an effort to escape.

When he only pulled her closer and rubbed his jaw along her neck, she began to struggle in earnest, her laughter broken by squeals. When he suddenly released her, she stumbled back several steps, rubbing at her neck. Her eyes were shining from the force of her laughter in a way he had not seen for a long time. Too long.

"What an undignified king." She stuck her tongue out at him. When he took a threatening step forward, she let out one more giggle and quickly scampered down the stairs. It was only when the remnants of her laughter faded that two mirrored figures stepped out from the shadows.

"Hello there little brother." Elrohir clapped him on the back. Aragorn grunted in reply. Though he and the twins appeared to be around a similar age, they were exceedingly fond of constantly reminding him who was older. It was true of course- there were thousand of years older than him.

But most of the time, Aragorn felt as though their roles had been reversed.

"Spying again are we?" Aragorn accused, but with little heat.

"It's only spying if you're caught." Elrohir smirked before leaning his lithe frame next to Aragorn and draping his arm over his shoulder. "What do you think of her brother? This Linus fellow." Before Aragorn was given a chance to reply, Elrohir continued with a shake of his head and a scoff, "What a silly name."

"Surely you two aren't jealous?" He smiled a little at how they both reddened.

"That would be foolish." Elrohir claimed, but made no further attempt to refute it.

Aragorn shrugged, "I haven't had much opportunity to learn much about him. He's protective of her though."

The twins nodded absentmindedly as their attention turned below.

Lyra's jaw was working hard as she brushed by the prince. She didn't spare a single glance in his direction, though the tension in her body spoke volumes. Legolas on the other hand, stopped short, his gaze turning to follow her as she disappeared through the crowd. They could see him muttering something under his breath and shaking his head.

"Now there's an interesting development." Elladan noted, not sounding at all pleased.

"That is where you should keep your nose out of." Aragorn was quick to point out. He had learned long ago that it was much wiser to stop the twins before they got an idea planted firmly in their thick heads.

"That is our sister." Elrohir growled.

"Who would make your life miserable if she thought for a second you would interfere."

"We can be discrete." Elrohir's smile echoed that of his twin.

"Not when it comes to your sister. Both of them." He added, silently reminding them of when he and Arwen's relationship had been in its infancy. It had been years before they had accepted the two's relationship with anything resembling good grace. The twins had been torn between their love for Aragorn and the natural need to protect their sister.

"Yes well you are worthy of our sister, practically being our brother and all." Elrohir muttered and immediately froze, "Wait, that sounded wrong."

"And we don't really know Legolas." He shot his brother a look that promised trouble, "Perhaps we should make an effort to know him better." His grin turned wolfish.

"He's to be king one day." Aragorn noted.

"So are you. Didn't stop us from giving you a hard time. I've heard good things about him though, fine archer and all." Elladan murmured, stroking his chin and studying the figure below in a thoughtful fashion.

"She's too young." Elrohir ground out, clearly annoyed that his twin was losing animosity towards the prince so quickly.

"She's not. Not anymore." Aragorn replied with a sort of wistfulness. "Not after what she's been through." It was a lesson he'd learned early enough. "I take it she told you everything?"

"About that murderous sorry excuse of a wizard she has to call father?" The venom in Elladan's voice was potent and heated. He took a shuddering breath and grunted, "Yeah she told us."

"Well, we're here to save the day. We can protect our sister from both orc scum and male scum." Elrohir reminded them both, standing a little taller. "After all, one is just as dangerous as the other."

"How gallant of you." Aragorn mumbled under his breath, despite knowing the twins' hearing would easily pick it up.

She would have lost her innocence anyway, he reminded himself. Sooner or later everyone did. But Aragorn wanted more time for Lyra.

The thought shouldn't have the power to carve out his insides and leave him hollow.

But it did.

* * *

It's been soooo long, I know. Forgive me, I did just start a new job and my schedule has been booked full of training. I've also been trying to work on other short stories. I know this is a short chapter but fingers crossed, I will have another up soon.

And on to the reviews:

Laradith- Thanks for the constructive review! You're definitely right. Lyra has been through a lot and her spirits are down with the whole struggle of coming to grips with her father and the war. For some reason, I love writing angsty things so that's probably seeping into my writing a little too much haha. I think she's in a bit of a shock but don't worry, she'll push through it without losing who she is. :)

Brandibuckeye- Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Jshaw0624- You're most certainly welcome! I hope you like this one. Thanks for leaving a review.

Someonesomewhere13- Oh my goodness. What a lovely thing to say.

Saint Liz- Aaawwwwwwwwww…..blushes and hides…..

Ansjill- Well, wait no longer my friend, here ya go! Enjoy

Theekshana- Yay! They are slow in coming but I'm trying to update at a semi regular pace haha.

Cat- good question! I don't tend to describe my characters' clothing too often, do I? I definitely will try to add some tidbits in there. But basically, you're right. Picture something similar to Tauriel. I find that if I describe too much appearance wise, it tends to limit the reader's imagination….or maybe that's just for me. You think Lyra is gonna go to Gondor….hmmmmm…interesting.

RLMZ- Unfortunately, there will not be excitement in every chapter. I guess I can see how he was a little rough in this chapter but honestly, there will be more of that in the future so if that's not your thing, you should probably stop reading at this point. Fair warning. Thanks for the review!

A lot of guests left me some great reviews. I wish I had your usernames to answer them all :( But thank you all so much!


	40. Children of War

" _I don't want to repeat my innocence._

 _I want the pleasure of losing it again."_

- **F. Scott Fitzgerald**

* * *

The dark sky was still full of stars when Lyra found herself prodded awake by a much too lively Gimli. The dwarf had all but drug her from the cocoon of warm blanket she had lost herself in only a few hours before. After many failed attempts to shrug him off, Lyra finally contented to struggle to her feet while Gimli assured Lyra that her presence was indeed necessary.

She stumbled over her feet behind the dwarf past shadowed hallways, still full of peacefully sleeping occupants that Lyra felt a pang of jealousy over.

King Theoden's frosty greeting had quickly robbed Lyra of the notion that she had been needed or even wanted. When she shot Gimli a sleepy glare, he simply shrugged in reply. It would have been boring without her, was all he said.

So she staggered along and fought off yawns while Aragorn, Theoden, Gimli, and Legolas went over what felt like each and every rock in the fortress, searching for any weaknesses the impending army could use against them. The sun had just begun its ascent when the king was called away. He bid her companions farewell and managed what could have been a half bow, half snarl in Lyra's general direction. If not for the veil of sleep that still hung about her mind, she might have been able to summon a grimace back.

Her only reply was a wide yawn. Legolas made a noise that was halfway between a chuckle and a sigh.

She had felt his eyes on her several times but he remained almost aloof, not cold, just wary, as if he were waiting for her to move first.

"Want to find some breakfast girlie?" Gimli cast hopeful eyes upwards. She waved the offer away and studied him with interest.

"Are you ever not hungry Gimli?"

The dwarf had just opened his mouth to give a reply Lyra already knew the answer to when a figure barreled towards them with surprising speed.

Eowyn's arrival was so sudden that Lyra took a few hasty steps backwards to avoid running headfirst into the woman.

Scowling, the king's niece planted herself in front of their small group and directed her frustration towards Aragorn who in turn regarded her cautiously.

"My uncle has informed me I am to sent into the caves with the rest of the women and children." She spit out the words between her teeth.

A look that could have been pity flitted across the ranger's face, "My lady, it is not my place to command you one way or the other. The decision is King Theoden's."

"But if you told him-" she trailed off, unable to finish the words but the pleading in her voice making it clear.

He blinked at that, "I cannot."

"What about her?" Eowyn's attention swirled to Lyra who had been listening to the conversation with interest. "She's younger than I am." The woman spouted.

"Lyra has had a wider training of weapons in her years than almost man in this Keep. Would you choose to weaken the defenses of this city just because she is allowed to fight and you are not?"

Eowyn blushed, "Of course not. I-"

"If the city does fall, the people will need someone to lead when no one is left. That'll undoubtedly be you."

She scowled at his words but some of the tension left her shoulders, "That is a pitiful alternative but I suppose I'll take it." She met Lyra's gaze, "I hope you stay safe, truly, I'm just jealous." She was gone before Lyra had the chance to reply.

"Women are so strange." Aragorn muttered under his breath and before Lyra could fully comprehended his words, she found herself nodding along in agreement.

When her brain caught up with her body, she shot the ranger a glare, "Hey!"

A sheepish grin was her only reply.

Luckily for Aragorn, a familiar figure just now making his way outside caught her attention. She waved her brother over while her companions continued their steady analysis of Helm's Deep.

"Rough night?" She asked, taking in his bed mussed state. Her brother's dark hair was untidy in a way she had never seen before. His face, usually pale, held faint traces of smeared red.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, studying the color that seemed most prevalent around his mouth. He gave a small laugh but his lips were a tight straight line.

"I'm fine Lyra." He insisted, before swiftly turning his attention on the others, "What have you and the ever present trio been up to?"

But Lyra remained nonplussed, "Are you sure you're okay? You have-" she broke off as sudden realization hit her.

Linus turned his attention to Lyra as her skin faded white then went a remarkable shade of red. He seemed especially interested in the way she flitted her eyes away from his, no longer able to meet his gaze.

He gave her a male smirk that she hoped never to see on his features again, "Caught on have you?"

"We were just going over the defenses." She stuttered.

"I did tell you I was fine." The laugh that he was only just able to keep suppressed was betrayed in the curl of his lips.

Lyra fought the urge to fidget, "I do hope you were…nice to her." She finally settled on.

He gave her an incredulous look, "Well she certainly thought so. If you'd of heard her last night-"

Lyra swatted his hand, "Enough, enough. I don't want to hear any more." She made a distinctly disgruntled noise.

He laughed and ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it.

"Come here." Lyra ordered, rising up on her toes and none too gently wiping his lips with the end of her sleeve.

Linus winced but contented to remain still until she was satisfied there was no trace of rouge left. His eyes were shadowed when she finished, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side.

"What's wrong? I didn't hurt you did I?" She asked with some concern while he schooled his features into control once again.

"I'm not used to people touching me-" he trailed off.

"Without hurting you." She finished, her feeling of embarrassment vanishing into one of horror. "I'm sorry." With excruciating precision, she slowly took his hand in hers and gently ran her fingers over the scars and callouses. His erratic heartbeat thundered beneath the slope of his wrist. "I would never hurt you Linus."

She saw his breath hitch in his chest, "I don't want to hurt you either. But it's all I do. I can't promise anything." The words were out in a frenzied rush and after they passed his lips, her brother seemed to droop a little more.

"I trust you." She smiled up at him, despite the pained look in his eyes, gave his hands one last squeeze and let go.

He flexed his fingers and stared down at his now empty hands as if they were foreign to him.

Feeling a desperate need to banish that lost look from his eyes, she turned the conversation to pressing matters, "Do you want to look over the wall with us? We're trying to choose what position would be best for all of us."

His eyes rose to meet hers, "I'll be securing the wall down below. King Theoden requested my presence."

"But you could say no." She tried and failed to keep the begging in her voice to a minimum.

He cocked his head to the side, "Why would I do that? It's where all the action will be."

Lyra's face scrunched, "This isn't a game Linus."

"Of course it is little sister and I play better than anyone."

"You know I could be older than you." Lyra blurted out.

"What?" He expression was one of clear confusion.

"You called me little sister." She clarified, "For all we know, I could be a few minutes older."

Linus made a noise that was half grunt half chuckle and pressed a kiss to her forehead, "When it's time, stay with the others. Stay safe."

When she could only nod, he gripped her shoulders tight, "Promise me Lyra."

She licked her lips and found her voice, "I promise."

He gave a smile that looked all too forced, "Good."

* * *

"Prince Legolas." Elrohir gave a bow even as the smile on his face held a mocking edge.

Lyra barely resisted the urge to pinch her brother. They had found her hours earlier and demanded a tour of the Keep, ignoring the fact that she had been there only a few hours more than they had. This had resulted in Lyra leading them down many dead end hallways. It was just her luck, Lyra internally sighed, that they run into Legolas just when the twins seemed to be gaining momentum.

Legolas eyes furrowed on her brothers before it came to rest on her. His stare held hers until Elladan cleared his throat loudly. When her cheeks tinged pink, Legolas grinned in a strangely satisfied way.

She scowled at his response, "What are you doing here?"

"Where should I be? It is you, not I, that steals out into the plains in the middle of the night." His expression was blank, bored even, if not for the hard lines of his body.

"You're still angry about that?" She groaned, scuffing the toe of her boot in the dirt.

"Why should the prince be angry?" Elrohir asked.

"She could have been killed." Legolas snapped back, his expression tightening into something dangerous.

"True enough. But why would that give you permission to be upset at her? What is my sister to you?" Elladan took a step closer to Lyra, draped a lazy arm around her shoulders.

A heavy silence filled the spaces between them and Lyra could have sworn her brothers held their breath waiting for an answer. When Legolas deigned to reply, it had been laced with smugness, "That's between Lyra and I."

Lyra balked when all three turned to her, "There's nothing there." She claimed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and jutting up an impressive glare.

She saw his impossibly blue eyes turn into shattered crystals and flickered to her face. "We'll see." He insisted, ignoring the twins' gruff displeasure. He gave her a small nod, ignored Elrohir and Elladan altogether before walking away.

"Sorry about that. He's not normally so rude." She scratched her head, considering the disappearing form, "Well, he is but not to strangers. Usually just to me…or dwarves."

"An elf of his age should have learned some manners."

"And you're an expert on that are you?" She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"We had graciously decided to give him something resembling a chance but it looks like he has made our decision quite easy." Elrohir grinned, looking strangely relieved.

"A chance for what?" She asked, regarding her brother with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh well, you know. Being decent." He finished lamely.

"I see." Lyra contented to let the subject drop and instead turned her attention back towards the activity in the Keep that had only turned more and more feverish at the day wore on.

"Come on." Elrohir pressed, "Let's fine some food. I'll need some energy to kill more orcs than you two put together."

Lyra shook her head as they led her away, "I think you two would get along great with a certain dwarf."

* * *

Lyra traced a finger over the stiff metal armor before pushing it away and reaching for soft leather. Catching Gimli's disapproving look, she insisted, "I can't move in that stuff. I need to be quick on my feet."

"You need to protect yourself."

"By being too fast to be hit. I'm an elf. You know that's our way."

"Still…" Gimli looked uncertain and gave a small tug on his beard.

"Relax Gimli, this isn't my first fight." She said, hoping the words might instill something resembling bravery into her. They didn't. Fear was a strange thing. The impending army had been almost easy to ignore the entire day. But now that the sun dipped closer and closer towards the horizon, whatever force that kept the feelings of fear at bay faded with the light.

The dwarf's lips twitched at her stab at experience. "Yes, you've been in what- 3 fights before?"

"I think we should count the ones with Legolas too. At times, he's more terrifying than orcs."

"Who could possibly be worse than an orc?" A voice behind her asked.

Lyra swirled to find Legolas gazing down at her with a blank expression. She twirled a strand of hair between her fingers and fought to adopt a similarly bland expression, "Oh, no one you would know."

Gimli chuckled and hopped to his feet. "Make sure she gets the armor put on right, will you?" he asked Legolas, completely disregarding Lyra. "I'm off to claim my spot at the wall."

With a long suffering sigh, Lyra merely shrugged before turning her attention back to her armor and trying to ignore the tautness the elf behind her exhumed.

Legolas was pacing in a way that generally did not befit one of such noble birth. A prince did not pace, some nameless surly voice in her head noted.

But Legolas was. Over and over. Back and forth. Lyra sent a searching glance at the floor, studying it for tread marks.

She was surprised to find none.

Her fingers, normally nimble, had created a tangle of knots from the straps that kept her armor in place. She growled at the complexity of it all and gave a vicious yank that dug into her shoulder.

"It should be tighter." Legolas' voice was closer than she expected it to be. He stood a single step away, studying her albeit flimsy progress, searching for any piece of skin not hidden.

His hands on her shoulder steered her around and the pressure of his touch descended to her waist. He gave small tugs at the leather straps and she felt his chest press against her back as he deftly reached around to her side. A distant part of her mind wondered how many times Legolas had done this before, how many battles it had taken until his fingers no longer shook, until he was able to school his mind into obedience just as skillfully as his body.

His calloused fingers traced the outskirt of her shirt, outlining the band of her pants. She gasped at the pressure. His fingers twitched in reply. Slowly, they drifted up her arms and ghosted over her bare skin, drawing goose bumps while his warm breath on her neck grew shallow.

Lyra was caught halfway between stepping forward and pressing back against his strength when she noticed he had gone. Slowly, she turned to regard him. His eyes, normally so light, had turned dark and serious. Almost predatory. He opened his mouth to say something and Lyra remained frozen, transfixed at the intensity of his gaze.

His lips moved but she didn't hear over the roaring that had invaded her ears.

"What?" she asked, shaking her head and willing the room to stop its lazy spin.

His smile loosened and his features reverted back into one of amusement with a clear trace of male contentment.

"We should find Gimli and Aragorn. It's almost time."

She found herself nodding but unable to move. With a sigh, he grabbed her hand and tugged her up the stairs.

Night had only just fallen and the dying remnants of sunlight were still visible far off in the distance.

It was a curious feeling, Lyra discovered, to force oneself to remain in the very place that would soon be overwhelmed by enemies and overrun by orcs. It was curious in the sense that breaking her arm had been- curious in a sense she never wanted to experience again.

It was also much harder than she imagined it would be- to willfully there instead of following what common sense demanded she do- run off into the mountains while there was still time.

But another part of her remained hopelessly locked together with her companions. And as much as she hated being there, she knew if someone tried to force her to leave, she would throw a fit like no one had ever witnessed before. The only worse than dying in a place like this would be abandoning her friends to die here without her. Still, neither choice stood out to her as being particularly favorable, especially in the light of coming events.

Her three friends remained as stable as pillars. Being surrounded by them made her feel braver and bolder by proxy. She gripped the hilt of her sword a little tighter and concentrated at the comforting weight of the bow at her back.

For an eternal dark moment, there was no sound. The entire world seemed to hold its breath, waiting, waiting.

And then, a caress on the edges of Lyra's world chanted a dull thump. And then another. And another. So scarce she could have convinced herself it was merely her imagination if not for Legolas' gaze that hardened.

In reply, the sky opened and released a rain that turned the packed dirt into precariously dark mud. But even the sound of a deluge could not mask the coming army. The footsteps and snarls and coughing breath grew until it overpowered the thunder in the sky.

Legolas gave a small seemingly unconscious tug on her sleeve, bringing her a step closer to him. Lyra felt herself begin to unravel.

* * *

Thank you guys for the encouragement to get this chapter out. Life has been pretty crazy recently and it seems I can never find enough time for what I want to do. BUT I do promise to finish this story. I have had the sweetest comments from you guys about how much you like the story and characters and I know first hand how crushing it can feel to get hooked on a story and see the author has not updated in years! So be patient with me while I get things back on track.


	41. Kill First, Die Last

_"Courage, dear heart."_ ** _-_** **CS Lewis**

* * *

Before the battle descended into madness, Lyra existed in the ephemeral space that balanced between denial and terror.

The turn to battle had been sudden but it had arisen slowly, almost cautiously.

Along with the others, Lyra had held an arrow on one hand and her bow in the other, waiting for the forefront of the orc army to reach the invisible line of their reach. A soft command at her side and she brought the feather tipped arrow and bow together. Rain soaked her hair and ran down her arms to trickle off the tips of her fingers.

But still she held the string taut.

The Uruk-hai stirred at the blatant show of aggression, banging their fists against the chest piece of their decaying armor.

Still, she remained still and waited for the order that had yet to come.

Growls bit into the air, growing steadily into a palpable roar.

Lyra bit her lip, kept her aim focused on an especially intimidating looking Uruk.

And then the whizz of a single arrow found its mark, followed by a gasp of horror from an old man to her right. The metal planted itself deep within the neck of a dying Uruk, leaving the battlefield as silent as a graveyard. Both sides took in final dying wheezes of the Uruk who tried in vain to stem the flow of black blood.

Then in one sudden horrible moment, the chaos of battle fell upon them.

The first volley of arrows were loosed; most found their marks in the thick armor, but some sank deep into flesh of an enemy that fell and did not get up. Lyra notched another arrow in time with her breath, pulled it back till her fingers brushed her jawline, aimed, and released.

Legolas had already fired several. Gimli, on the other hand, was busy hopping on one foot then the other, trying to catch a glimpse of the enemy and grumbling impatiently.

When the warning cry of 'ladders' echoed over the Keep, he gripped his axe tighter and smiled, "Good."

Lyra didn't have time to chastise the dwarf. She was too busy turning her attention towards the orcs that carried long jagged pieces of metal crudely wielded together to form a ladder. She freed another arrow right into the neck of one such Uruk who had been running full force towards the Keep. As he fell, the weight of the ladder fell to the others, too heavy to keep aloft.

She heard their snarls as they tumbled, even above the thunder of battle and felt the heat of their rage pierce her.

In reply she slowly, purposefully brought another arrow to her bow and aimed it towards the leader, and smirked.

Before she could release it, Legolas shoved her down, just as something sharp and thick pierced the air where she had been. A shallow cut on the side of her arm told her just how closely she had come to being impaled.

Her sleeve was wet with her own blood, but her leg was warm and dark with another's stain. The body of a man beside her, eyes still open and shocked in death, gazed unseeing back at her. Fighting the bile in her throat, she threw hasty thanks at the prince before climbing to her feet again.

The wall trembled, throwing her off balance as three heavy ladders had finally managed to become snared on the top of the wall. Gimli set off towards the nearest one with an ecstatic battle cry.

"I'm going to help Gimli." She threw back at Legolas, who was still releasing arrows faster than she could blink and never once missing the mark.

Before he could reply, she ran off, twisting between bodies until she caught up with her friend. The sound of whistling arrows gave way to metal clashing against armor. Unsheathing her sword, she froze in horror at the sight of a man being cut nearly in half.

Gimli jumped forward, bringing him axe up and sinking it into the unprotected back of an Uruk.

Another man fell.

The enemy was climbing faster than they could kill and it was with her heartbeat pounding away inside her chest that Lyra forced herself to move forward.

Her movement caught the attention of one. With a snarl full of sharp rotting teeth, he charged towards her. Acting on instinct, Lyra took a faltering step backwards and found her feet ensnared by the dead body of another. She fell backwards just as the Uruk swung his sword where her head had been only a second before.

With a yelp, she grappled for the dagger at her side before thrust it into the muscled leg. The Uruk topped beside her and she used the time to clamber to her feet and swing her sword at its neck.

She didn't stop to think or breathe. Reaching forward, she grabbed the hilt of the dagger still embedded in its leg and pulled, ignoring the black blood that sprung forth and coated her hand. She trailed her eyes over the chaos of still and screaming bodies, searching for Gimli.

"I'm at sixteen." Gimli crooned behind her, a smile on his face despite the blood that stained his beard red.

"Now is not the time." She seethed, throwing her dagger at another orc. It fell.

Gimli broke the legs of another with a mighty swing of his axe. It seemed to go on forever like that- barely missing one attack before facing down the next. What felt like a sudden flood of time, Lyra knew had only to be a trickle of minutes.

She wasn't fast enough to completely miss the attack of the next. Its long sword caught the leather of her shoulder, biting past it and into the skin. She grunted and twisted away, using her anger to shove the beast away. It fell over the side of the wall and landed atop others with a crunch.

"I'm still beating you." Gimli yelled.

Her voice had grown horse, strained but she still managed to glare at her friend. She coughed trying to rid the invisible barrier in her throat, weighing her down. The world became fuzzy, strained at the edges. She felt the splatter of blood on the side of her face and blinked furiously to rid herself of the redness there.

It was then she saw a tall imposing figure a half level down, looking far less daunting surrounded by Uruk-hair that were more massive than he was. Haldir swung his sword at the enemy, seemingly chopping them down with ease but Lyra noticed the strain of his jaw, the way he favored his left leg. The enemy noticed it too for they crowded near him, pushing forward until he was surrounded.

She had used the power inherited from her father before. But that had been with Gandalf, when her mind had been free of bloodlust. Now, at her weakest, she felt it most strongly, itching beneath her skin and fighting for a way out.

Haldir was standing alone. There were so many fallen elves around him, eyes open and still, bodies torn and bloody.

Fury did not wash over her like a wave. It came slowly, intently, creeping from her mind and branding out into her body, filling her a white heat that made her burn with need.

Throwing caution to the wind, Lyra gripped her sword tighter and set off at a run.

The first Uruk hadn't seen her coming. His death came quickly. The other three did. She ducked under the sword of one and slashed at his neck. The cut was deep but still it would take time for him to bleed out. She left him still choking on the telltale dying gurgles before she crouched low and brought her sword up, aiming for the soft spot between the chest and arm. Her sword sunk in deep and caught, ripping from her hands when the beast turned and backhanded her.

She was thrown back and felt the breath knocked from her lungs. Ignoring her chest's desperate gasps for air, she rolled to her feet and brought her anger to her fingers.

It didn't glow like before. There was no light.

But she could feel it at her fingertips, dark and hungry. With a snarl, she released it at the Uruk. His body convulsed and cracked as his bones snapped.

The other Uruk was still frozen in shock and was all too easy to cut down. Lyra didn't slow; not all the hunger inside her had been sated. Her insides cried out for more. She was only too happy to obey.

With each enemy she killed, a little of the bloodthirsty craving in her mind quieted, replaced with an insistent buzzing. A warning that she was pushing herself too far, ignoring the energy that seeped from her limbs. She was caught halfway between swaying on her feet and the overpowering euphoria of adrenaline that blanketed everything else when she reached Haldir.

From the corner of her eye, Lyra witnessed another explosion that threw everything in her world off center. A dozen orcs were tossed high into the air. But there were so many more behind them, already on their feet, rushing forward. The ground pounded with their steps, bring them closer and closer. And Lyra could not move, could not turn her head, could not leap out of the way when the ground beneath her heaved and the sky collapsed.

Parts of the wall disappeared while large chunks of stone fell from the sky like deadly rain.

Something collided with the back of her head and she fell to her knees slowly, bringing her hands in front of her to slow her descent. And just like that, any strength she had held in her body evaporated as quickly as it had come. Her eyes swirled back and forth of their own will and she blinked heavily.

Almost as soon as her knees touched the ground, strong arms were pulling her up, and a voice whispered in her ear, urging her forward.

She turned slowly and felt a bloody grin stretch across her face at a shocked Haldir. His blonde hair was tousled and smudges of dirt coated his face but she could see no bloodstains. She smiled and lifted a tired hand in greeting.

"Lyra, what are you-" And then his attention shifted to something behind her and his eyes widened in horror. She tried to turn but weights had filled every empty space inside her.

The impact left her breathless and for a dark stretch of eternity, Lyra wondered if she had just died. Perhaps she was still on her way there.

Thrown forward, she landed atop Haldir in a messy jumble of arms and legs and it _hurt_ \- the collision of bodies, whatever ate away at her back, the brief plummet back to the ground. And death wasn't supposed to hurt so much. An Uruk lay sprawled in death only a few feet away.

Oddly enough, in the end, it was his voice that pulled her back to the sharp grating reality, even when Haldir was at her ear.

He was standing above the wall, looking down at them, blue eyes pinning her with ease, and looking very angry. His mouth moved and though she couldn't make out the exact words she could see clear as day the worry and rage. In her weary addled state, she thought for the briefest moment, there was a flash of something else too.

"I think he's really starting to grow fond of me." She murmured, forcing herself off Haldir and rolling to the side.

He blinked at her dazedly before sitting up so suddenly that they almost knocked heads.

"Are you alright?" She remained fixated on a telltale dark stain that wet his shirt.

He nodded and took a look around. "Glad to see my lessons were so effective." He grinned.

"But the blood-" she broke off, confused. The words were sticking inside her mouth and the more she tried to talk, the blurrier everything became.

"It's not mine." Haldir reassured her. His eyes widened in dismay at the words and she wondered why.

Wasn't that good? Not his blood.

But the world was spinning too fast and he had to bring his mouth next to her ear so that she could hear his next words, uttered over and over like some kind of omen.

"Not mine. Yours." Then his hands were on her, searching, tearing away the leather she wore instead of armor. She saw his hands but could not feel them. She couldn't feel anything except the buzzing that shook her head and the cold that was seeping into her limbs, starting at the very tips of her hands and toes and sweeping inward.

She tried to move them, to stand but all she managed was to sink further.

The ground disappeared and she fell into the open air, kept suspended by a strong pair of hands, under her legs, around her shoulder.

And Legolas was looking down at her, worry sharp in his eyes, making them darker. And he was saying something over and over. It wasn't until he repeated it a dozen times that she heard.

"You little fool."

But she wasn't mad. Couldn't be mad. Not when he looked like he was the one that was about to die and not her. She smiled up at him even though she knew there was blood on her face, in her mouth staining her teeth.

"I'm okay." She insisted, frowning when her words came out slurred.

The world shifted once more, darkened around the edges and Lyra fought the plunge in her stomach.

* * *

Reality filtered away and came back weakly in time with her pulse. She blinked several times in confusion, fighting her way past the dreamlike state she remained trapped in. There were no orcs around her. She looked up towards the sky and stared for a long moment at a dark ceiling. Not stars.

Her head rolled forward and she noticed the others. All weary looking and bloody. Legolas sat before her and she noted with foreign interest that her hand was held tightly in his. She couldn't feel much but the heat from his skin burned into hers like a brand.

"What happened?" She croaked, taking in the men who were left. There were so few.

Legolas' eyes snapped up to hers, eyes flitting over her face, "We're in the Keep."

Her forehead scrunched in confusion, "Did we win?"

A grim smile pulled at his lips, "Not yet Lyra, but soon."

"Oh." She blinked once, twice, "What are you doing?"

Legolas didn't answer, already standing, busy tugging the wet material of her sleeve away and studying whatever lay there with quiet intensity. She followed his gaze and winced at the state of her shoulder. It would require stitches, she knew. Despite her inability to feel the pain, she felt her mind swim at the blood and bit her tongue to keep steady.

Legolas brought her fingers unto her chin, gently demanding her attention. "Lyra, you'll be fine." She wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more but she merely nodded.

Legolas swiftly bandaged her shoulder with a piece of torn cloth that looked at least halfway clean. Despite the rising panicked voices that reverberated inside the chamber, he studied her face for a long moment, taking in the pale pallor of her skin and the sweat and blood that made her hair stick to her face. Taking her good arm, he pulled Lyra to her feet.

"Come on. It won't be much longer now." He promised, steering her forwards.

She felt herself nod. "I'm fine. I can still fight." But it was his strength alone that she remained on her feet. The room had contended to remain still but it had slowed until she was tripping over her feet and slurring her words.

With little preamble, he pushed her onto a horse before jumping up behind her. Carefully avoiding her injured shoulder, he set his arms around hers, "I know you can."

"She alright?" Lyra heard Gimli ask from what seemed like far away. She opened eyes that she hadn't been aware had closed, surprised to find both Aragorn and Gimli close, mounted on another horse.

"Just a little dizzy." Legolas pulled her a little closer and Lyra simply nodded in agreement, letting her head droop back on his shoulder.

"Stay awake Lyra." Legolas' command in her ear had her wearily forcing her eyes open. "You're strong, aren't you?"

A spark of determination rooted itself inside her chest with his words.

It was with her remaining strength that she gripped her sword in hand, though it shook.

The world blinked and when Lyra came to again, they were outside the Keep, surrounded by a dark ocean, hacking away at each wave. Dimly, she noted that she also was fighting though her body felt weightless like she might float away at any second.

She was fighting, albeit weakly, but still.

And then a white light from atop the hill caught her eye and the attention of each and every enemy on the field swung away.

"It's Gandalf." Legolas murmured into her ear. Lyra was too tired to smile even as she felt the weight fall from her shoulders. Slowly, the shape of a thousand soldiers took form against the sky's outline. The Uruk realized it with horrible snarls. It took them no time at all to turn from attacking to running. The thunder of an army followed them into the forest as they charged down the hill and broke onto the field.

Lyra could have sword the trees moved. She shook her head to rid her eyes of the illusion and frowned when the limbs of trees still shook.

Moving trees….but there was one thing more important and Lyra found her voice to ask in a very tired way, "Can I go to sleep now?" into the thick silence that invaded every sense.

Before Legolas could reply, Lyra felt herself go boneless as her eyes drifted shut. It was no time at all before she was gone.


	42. Hollow and Whole

_"_ _Sometimes quiet is violent." -_ **Twenty-One Pilots**

* * *

Lyra was trying to ignore the flickers of red that had invaded the far corner of her eye.

Trying and spectacularly failing. The color dipped in and out again at a steady pace.

She clenched her eyes, tight, and allowed the room to quietly settle back in place.

Eowyn leaned over her, long pale hair spilling down her shoulders, with touches just as light and soft. Her face was kept blank in a very purposeful way but her hands…Lyra's stomach rolled at the blood that stained slender fingers and fought to urge to recoil, held still by the sharp stab of pain to her shoulder.

"It's all over now." Eowyn soothed, hands outstretched to comfort the girl before thinking twice and letting them fall slowly to her side.

Lyra glanced down at her shoulder with silent determination, fixed the tight stitches that pulled it all together with a glare, and felt her head swim a little at the smudges of red that stained the skin.

"All done." Eowyn announced, prodding the area with satisfaction. "We thought it would be best to take care of while you were still sleeping."

Gimli lumbered over to inspect the work, which he deemed acceptable with a quick nod of his head, "Should have stayed asleep awhile longer and you could have avoided this nasty business."

"I'll try to remember to do that next time Gimli." She managed to mutter past the sharp knot in her throat.

A look of pity and something else stole across Eowyn's eyes as she hastened to gather the dirty bandages, a mixture of wet and brown blood crusting on the surface. Lyra refused to look at the bloody needle in her hand. "It's only stitches Eowyn. It's not that bad." She replied, a small nudge of guilt pushing outwards from her chest.

The woman nodded, straightened, emptied any lingering emotion in her face wth efficient speed. "I should let you rest." She exchanged a look with Gimli before offering Lyra one final soft smile. Her skirts billowed behind her as she left, Lyra's blood still staining her white hands a spotty red.

"But I just woke up." Lyra protested before fixing the dwarf with a meaningful look, "Do you think she's upset at me?"

"You can be quite thick can't you girlie? She's probably pitying you for passing out at the end of battle, missing the sight of me beating pointy ears." A faint sense of deja vu was invoked as Gimli sat at the foot of her bed.

Lyra, who had yet to see any of her other companions after waking, smirked, "Why do I have a feeing you're not entirely truthful, Gimli?"

He snorted, "At least I managed to stay awake till the end." His voice was light and teasing but Lyra groaned and tried unsuccessfully to bury her face in one hand. To her upmost dismay, she felt her face radiate heat.

"It's seems I've been doing a lot of that lately." A thought broke her from the rush of embarrassment, "Haldir is alright isn't he? You would have told me." It came out more of a question.

Slowly Gimli nodded, "He's fine. A few scratches is all."

Sighing, Lyra settled back into the pillows and burrowed a bit deeper under the blanket. "Good."

Her friends were alright. They were together again. Safe, for now at least.

She smiled and allowed a rush of contentment to settle.

"Lyra-" Gimli began before breaking off suddenly and knotting his fingers in his beard.

"You don't want to tell me something." She breathed, her heart picking up a steady pace that throbbed along her veins.

He nodded, dark eyes flickering away before pulling them back, forced to meet hers.

"How bad is it?" Her voice was barely over a whisper and fought to escape her throat in a rush.

He took a deep breath, "Your brother-"

In a single horrible second, Lyra felt her breath catch and the blood that had warmed her skin a moment before turn to ice.

No. It couldn't be. Her brothers were both skilled fighters.

So was Linus.

There was nothing that could hurt them.

But her mind played images of another, falling into darkness, surrounded by a vast nothing.

"Elrohir was guarding the wall. An arrow caught him, poisoned." He broke off. "I'm sorry."

She struggled to her feet and felt the world tilt sideways. Still, she managed to avoid Gimli's hands that tried to keep her down. And then she was out the door, running through the halls, bare feet slapping against the stone.

Men and women stopped to stare at her frantic pace but Lyra didn't notice any of them. It didn't matter that she was making horrible noises or that her breath was coming in far too quickly and still she was not getting any air. Her mind had gone dark and empty but she could still feel the razor sharp edges of panic closing in.

The dry wind followed her down the halls and outside.

The air smelled of smoke and metal and the beginning stages of decay. Dark wisps of dead flames hovered above the ground, giving the false appearance of heat. Sometime early in the morning, the weather had turned uncaring and Lyra felt the chill in drops of perspiration that dotted her skin.

But sitting alone on the edge of the battlefield was a familiar figure.

And then there was another that lay beside him, unmoving, eyes closed and so pale. Except for the wide dark stain that drew her eyes, the dark stain that could only mean one thing.

Bizarrely, her initial thought was that it was strange to see him so still. Of the two twins, Elrohir was the most energetic. He needed to move like he needed to breathe. It often led him to wayward ends. More often than not, he usually succeeded in dragging either her or Elladan in as well.

Now, there would be no more childish pranks that she would feign angry at. No more would he scoop her up in his arms just like when she was a child. No more of his constant smile, no more teasing grins.

Elladan's eyes fell on her and she could feel the weight they held pin her to the floor, feel herself drown in the pained depths.

"Elrohir?" Her voice cracked as she swallowed down the terror, felt it curdle in her stomach. His eyes failed to open, failed to find hers. Elladan stood, wiped at his cheek, took a weak step forward.

Stumbled. Lyra made no move to catch him but remained spellbound by the small droplet of salt water that fell. Her brother didn't cry. Never.

Unless, unless…

"He's not dead. He can't be." The world tunneled and Lyra found herself backing away from the arms he offered. Arms she wanted nothing more than to run into and hide. "Please just tell me it's not true." The pressure in her throat had become unbearable; she could have sworn there was a hand around the hollow base of it choking what little breath she managed to take in.

Elladan whispered her name, looking lost and for the first time, without his other half.

Alone.

She watched as he sank down until he was on the red muddy ground, like the invisible strings that had kept him upright were cut.

She remained transfixed as he put his head in his hands, like it was too heavy for him to hold upright anymore.

Then his shoulders began to shake and she found herself kneeling beside him, unaware of her own movements, unaware that she could still move. Her arms, much too small, went around him.

And for the whole night, her hands gripped his with bruising strength and did not once let go.

* * *

They burned Elrohir just before dusk settled over the world.

A hysteric laugh threatened to bubble forth at the picture of Elrohir sitting up suddenly, looking around and demanding what they were all staring at. But he didn't open his eyes or move, not when the men laid his body on the pyre, not when the fire began to lick at the wood on which he lay. Not even when the flames ate at his clothing and then further.

And then just like that, it was all over and the only thing that remained of him were the ashes that were too small and light and floated upwards on the wind, disappearing into the black sky.

All too soon, the night ended and the fracturing light of morning crept into the sky, sending tiny veins of sun through the darkness.

The sunrise was beautiful that first morning, filled with streaks of impossible orange and smudges of the clearest gold.

Lyra closed her eyes and allowed her mind to go blank.

* * *

The return to darkness was calming. Lyra would even have been tempted to call it comforting but she doubted her situation would warrant that. The morning had flown by in a haze of fog. Lyra found that looking back, she was unable to recall a single second of it.

If she had cried, she had no doubt the shadow of night would have shielded the tear tracks on her cheeks.

But she hadn't.

Hadn't cried, hadn't shed a single tear, even when her brother emptied himself of his.

Even after she had escaped to the pinnacle of Helm's Deep, her feet hanging in the empty air, her back pressed against cool stone.

She hadn't cried and a distant part of her wondered exactly what was wrong with her.

But maybe that was the problem, her mind surmised. The idea of Elrohir dead was so inconceivable, so unthinkable that it was impossible to imagine.

So she didn't.

Against the wide endless expanse of sky, she felt a slight tug deep within her chest and something inside Lyra wondered at the reason of it all. Futile, it could all seem at once- an entire lifetime and then in one crashing second, she could barely remember her own name. The world had been thrown into disarray and she felt herself scrambling to make sense of the shattered pieces left in its wake.

The looks she received from her friends had kept her tethered. And though she could feel the weight of their gazes following her, steadying her, they hadn't approached. Like they knew she wanted, needed to be alone. She wasn't ready to pretend she was okay, even though for all appearances, she was coping, she was fine. Despite appearance's sake, she knew they were much harder to fool. But she was fine.

Fine.

Except for the moments when she could no longer tell if she was breathing, the minutes that spread into hours where she had to remind her body to breathe and her eyes to open.

She was fine.

So she leaned back against the cold wall, damp with mist and dew and fought the swirling hole of emptiness that had lodged its way inside her chest.

Ghosts of those lost flitted in the empty spaces between the sharp shards of flames that lit the torches. Lyra almost felt she could hear their whispers resonate among the empty corridors.

She tossed away the suddenly overwhelming urge to lay down on the ground, close her eyes, and never get up. Elrohir would be ashamed of her, a small part of her mind berated. The other answered back that it really didn't matter anymore, now that he was gone.

"Lyra." It was all too easy to accept she was imaging his voice so she didn't turn, didn't move.

His voice found her again and she closed her eyes tight until white sparks exploded behind her eyelids. She gasped in a breath and wished, wished he would go away and leave her alone.

She inhaled and hoped he would stay.

She didn't want to break when the images started- her brother bloody, in pain, dying. Dead.

She didn't want to see him like that and wondered if now, she'd ever be able to remember him any other way.

The ground began to sweep itself from beneath her feet.

"Lyra." Her name was a drop in still dark water. She felt herself disappear under the rippling surface.

She wished the horror out of her head and bit her lip when her mind rebelled. The taste of blood exploded on her tongue but instead of grounding her, the iron caused her stomach to give a small steep plunge.

"Lyra-" The noise she made when he found her was somewhere between a sob and gasp. His breath seeped through the fabric of her shirt and she burned. Legolas' hands were soothing and gentle, meant to comfort, to quiet. But that wasn't what she wanted.

Her body trembled with need, the need to rant and hurt. And most of all she shook with the need to hurt someone else, to make someone understand the monsters that warred inside her mind.

And she lashed out with her hands because she was not as adept as he in injuring with words. And she wanted to hurt him.

Desperately needed to make him understand just a little of the pain that seemed at times to squeeze the very life from her bones.

And she hit his chest with her fists until the strength had disappeared in its entirety and there was nothing left but a shell of herself crying and choking for breath and finding none.

And then she found it was all too easy to cry and even harder to stop.

Steady hands drew soothing circles on her back and she felt a little warmth returned to her frozen fingers. And then she clung to him, knotted her fingers around the wide expanse of his back like he was the only thing that kept her suspended in the world.

Her shaking grew more severe and it was with concern that he drew back and swept his gaze over her. "Are you cold?"

She stared back, "I think I'm in shock."

And in that moment, she knew it was true. But there was something else, creeping along her veins so slowly that she might have missed it if her body had not been emptied of everything else.

The only thing strong enough to push away the despair of being alone and the terror of how breakable they all were. But most of all, the guilt.

Anger was sweet in its return and she could feel it dig deep within her bones and furrow to the back of her mind. She could taste the power that lingered at her fingertips, power that she felt a need to use, to cast about her like a weapon. And for the first time, there was no fear when she looked into the mirror and saw a garbled image of Saruman staring back.

Her fists clenched at her sides and she savored the brief distraction of pain when her nails dug into the skin of her palms. "I want to kill them Legolas." At her words, some of the bone deep exhaustion that had turned her skin to paper burned away.

She looked up, unblinking, unflinching, to meet his gaze. "I want to kill them all."

* * *

I'm sorry it's been so long guys! Sorry, sorry, sorry. I've recently started a new job with a new schedule and life has been a bit hectic.


	43. For Those Forgotten

" _My candle burns at both ends_

 _It will not last the night_

 _But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends_

 _It gives a lovely light!"_

― _**Edna St. Vincent Millay**_

* * *

It seemed the next day that everyone around Lyra had decided that two days alone was sufficient. Gimli had discovered her still before sunrise and with his usual grace, prodded at her unprotected side with his booted foot.

Lyra, feeling not at all prone to benevolence, had blearily cracked an eye and aimed a weak glare at the dwarf. Far from looking afraid, he appeared practically delighted by her reaction. Anything other than numb must seem an improvement, she surmised.

It had been sometime near the lingering hours of dusk that Lyra had finally fallen asleep. Looking back, it was impossible to remember where exactly she had dozed off but it was nestled firmly in a mountain of blankets that she found herself the next morning.

Or rather before morning, she pointed out to Gimli as he pulled her to her feet and shoved an oversized shirt into her arms. Blinking stupidly, she only watched as he balanced his axe and her curved sword in his gloved hands.

"I'll see you in the practice yard in 10 minutes." With that, he slammed the door behind him shut. For a brief moment, Lyra fought with the desire to crawl back into bed and hide under the blankets. But Gimli wouldn't be pleased or deterred and she doubted his next visit would end quite as peacefully.

Too tired to summon the energy to be miffed, she clumsily pulled on the shirt and a pair of soft riding boots, and wondered why exactly she listened to the dwarf so often. Across the room, a mirror caught her attention. Staring back was a stranger whose under eye circles stood out like bruises- a deep shade of purple against the pale strain of her face. Lyra looked away quickly, inhaled a shaky breath, and stepped outside.

The walls of Helm's Deep were silent in the early morning; the only sound the echo of her footsteps. Both soldiers and villagers had spent the previous days separating and burning the dead. A heap of weapons, heavy and rusted, had been piled against one wall. _Orc weapons,_ she wrinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of the dark blood that wet the blades.

The weather had warmed somewhat during night but the grasp of spring was fragile at best. The wind brushed over her skin too quickly to provide any sense of heat. Though lacking any sort of restful sleep, Lyra felt truly awake of the first time in what seemed like years. As the first faint streaks of light caressed the land, she felt herself almost startled at the sights and sounds, ordinary as they were.

The smooth murmur of Elvish voices echoed around the corner, too faint for any human ears. Lyra, suddenly apprehensive, stilled and peeked around the corner.

What she saw made her rush forward.

"Haldir." She gasped, "You're up already? Shouldn't you be…resting? Did a healer release you or-" she trailed off, aware that the other elves standing nearby were looking heartily entertained at her attempts to scold their captain.

Other than his arm bound in a sling, the March warden looked completely healthy and strong in the golden light. It was almost impossible to remember him any other way.

In comparison, Lyra felt grubby, suddenly very aware of the tangled hair she hadn't even bothered brushing.

Ignoring her question, he raised his good hand in greeting, "I came to see you earlier."

"Oh." Lyra cleared her throat, "No one told me."

"Legolas and Gimli were standing guard. From their reaction, I was there to harm you instead of inquire as to your health." His lips twitched.

She rubbed her neck sheepishly. "They can be a little overprotective."

"I see you are fully healed." His keen eyes, far too intense, made her shift back and forth.

"Gandalf healed me yesterday." She said, recalling the memory. The wizard hadn't uttered a single word. He simply sat her down, placed his fingers on her injured shoulder and murmured a few ancient whispers.

The skin had burned like fire.

She hadn't made a sound.

He didn't ask her why she hadn't healed it herself. He didn't need to. And when it was all over, he smoothed back her hair in a gesture that made her heart clench. Then he left.

"You saved my life. I owe you a great deal." The presence of _something_ under his words snapped her back to the present.

"You owe me nothing." She replied quickly.

Perhaps too quickly because he studied her for a long time before he said, "I was grieved to hear of your brother. I only knew him a little but it was long enough to know how much his family will miss him."

Lyra swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Thank you."

His voice gentled as he took a step closer, "It's difficult to lose someone when you're so young."

"Is it any less painful when you're a thousand?" She asked, neither kind nor cruel.

He considered her for a moment with quiet intensity. Any other time she might have looked away. But not now. "You still have the ring." He commented.

Lyra glanced down at her hand in surprise, running her finger over the delicate silver. It was strange that such a small innocent band had escape unscathed when it seemed everything else had been torn apart around them. "It makes me feel safe. Before-when I- well, it helped me a great deal."

Nonplussed by her stammering, he looked pleased by her words. Then he grew serious once more, "I feel I would remiss in my duty if I did not try and convince you to go back to Rivendell. Or if you prefer, I could escort you to Lothlorien. My Lady would be pleased to see you again."

"But I-"

"It would also please me." He added quickly, pulling her up short.

At her stunned expression, he gave a rare chuckle. "You doubt my word?" His smile stripped the years from his face. Though no wrinkle marked him, Haldir carried the responsibility of his people like a weight around his shoulders.

She always assumed he was untouchable, for those like her. Cold. Now, with a strangely impish grin upon his fine features, Lyra resisted the urge to reach out and brush her fingers over his jaw, to see if the sharply raised edges were jagged or smooth.

Then she thought of Frodo, of the red impress that had just begun to appear around his neck. "The Ring hasn't been destroyed." She reminded him.

"It's a hundred miles away now."

"That's not the point." She took a deep breath, "I can't leave them now. Especially-"

"Especially after your brother." A troubled expression flashed over his face, "I have found in my experience that revenge may be a good thing to fight for, but not to live for."

"I can't let that happen to Gimli or Aragorn or Legolas. Not to any of them, not if I can help it."

"There are others-"

"Who?" she demanded, voice growing hard, "There are ten of us. Were ten of us." She waved away his next comment, "I appreciate your concern but you won't change my mind."

Haldir looked ready to argue until his eyes flickered to something over her shoulder. "Greetings Prince Legolas."

It no longer surprised Lyra that she didn't hear Legolas' silent approach but she still swung to face him with a scowl. Memories of the previous night played behind her eyes. She had fallen apart, in front of him of all people. "What are you doing here?" She asked, cringing slightly when it came out as more of an accusation.

He gave her a dry look, "Some of us train Lyra." The curved handles of his long knives perched at his back. To her intense annoyance, he didn't look the least bit tired as he gave a small sharp nod to Haldir.

Bristling, she replied, "That shows what you know. I'm meeting Gimli for training. He seemed to be in quite a hurry." She said, glancing around for her stubby friend.

Haldir's expression turned sour. "You take orders from a dwarf?" Legolas merely looked interested at her answer.

Struggling to maintain some sense of pride, she said, "I-no, of course not. I actually forced him from bed. Told him I needed some practice and he might as well proved useful."

Gimli's bellow shattered any chance of pretense, "There you are lassie. I've been waiting for your lazy bones for 20 minutes now. Next time, I'll drag you out earlier if you're not careful." He stomped the handle of his axe into the dirt for emphasis. "Get over here."

Blushing, Lyra muttered a quiet farewell before scampering over to the dwarf.

"Why's your face gone all red?" Gimli asked, his words resounding loud enough for anyone in the Keep to hear, elf or not.

In reply, she simply hissed, "Have you brought me out here to ask stupid questions or did you call me here to knock that axe from your grubby little hands?"

Gimli's beard waggled as he drew up his axe, "Feeling feisty, huh? Let's see what we can do about that."

* * *

Covered in sweat and trembling head to foot, Lyra groaned against the dwarf's powerful attack, just as strong now as it had been hours ago. The crowd that Lyra and Gimli's initial match had attracted had all but faded away, leaving only four alone on the stretch of hill that Gimli had claimed just outside the gates for their practice. Aragorn, who occasionally called out advice when he deemed her blocks too slow, rested on a fallen log, the smoke from his pipe curling into the air. Lyra was grateful for his steadying presence, especially when she knew there had to have been a thousand obligations he was forgoing to be with her.

Legolas and Haldir had watched in their silent way that made Lyra feel as far from perfect as possible.

After an hour, when Lyra was finally awarded a respite and looked up, Haldir was gone.

Perhaps it was best this way, she mused. After all, Lyra was never any good at goodbyes. True to form, Gimli hadn't given her too long to linger on that.

Afraid that she might accidentally injure her friend, Lyra had been content to remain on the defense. It hadn't taken her long to notice that the dwarf could not remain expressionless during battle. Indeed, a wide smile had remained plastered on his face as he repeatedly rammed his axe towards her throat.

Lyra was caught somewhere between morbid fascination and mild offense.

She grunted as her sword caught the full swing of his axe. "Stop looking at me like that." She ordered, jumping a step back, out of arm's length to rub at her arm whose muscles gave convulsive spasms.

He only grinned wider in reply. "Scared there lassie? Smartest thing you said yet."

She wiped the sweat away from her forehead and closed her eyes, allowing the wind to brush cool fingers over her skin. Alone with her friends, Lyra could almost convince herself they were still in Rivendell. It was peaceful. Except for the rising volume of Gimli's voice as he sat next to Aragorn and tried to pretend he wasn't just as tired as she.

"Bah, Gandalf missed half the fight, the better half. I slaughtered twice as many of those orcs as you pointy ears."

Lyra paled and glanced away, leaving Gimli to trail off, "Not a good fight. I mean- that wasn't what I intended to say-"

Lyra pretended not to notice his discomfort but she did see Aragorn slap the back of Gimli's head from the corner of her eye.

Strangely, it was enough to fight off the tightening on her chest.

"We should be heading back soon. The light will not dally for much longer." Aragorn said, snuffing out the final embers of his pipe.

"Is it already getting dark?" Lyra asked, glancing around at the encroaching shadows with mild distrust. "That can't be right."

There was a beat of silence.

"We fought away the entire day missy." Gimli huffed, his cheeks ruddy. "You'll sleep well tonight." He promised, looking as if wanted nothing more than to escape to his own bed and pass out.

Lyra's own muscles, pulled too tight, protested with each movement. She glanced down at her hands. The callouses on her fingers had torn. Specks of red dotted her palm. It was…nice. Easy in its simplicity.

She laid her hand on Gimli's shoulder. "Thank you." She whispered to him.

Perhaps her voice wavered because the dwarf glanced up sharply to meet her eyes before staring at his own feet with single-minded intent. "It was nothin. Needed a good partner." He mumbled, waving her thanks away. "Besides, you're the only one who can keep up with me, eh? The other two are grown soft in their old age." It drew a laugh from Lyra and glares from both Legolas and Aragorn.

So immersed was she in their company that Lyra almost failed to recognize the men who drew close until the loud jostling of their weapons pulled her eyes upwards.

"Eomer." She gasped at the burly man, his tangled blonde hair framing gentle eyes and a hard mouth.

"It's good to see you well." He looked amused at her enthusiasm and it was with some restraint that she fought to contain the urge to throw her hands around him. With a cough, he elbowed his companion.

King Théoden must have felt his nephew's displeasure because he gave Lyra a small nod of his head. "My lady."

Lyra took a step back, felt the comfort of her friends' warm presence behind her and waited.

But he only said, "I heard you saved the life of the March warden."

She gave a small nod, feeling the scrutiny of her companions flicker back and forth between her and the king.

"That was- that was very good of you." He said, meeting her eyes for the first time. She was surprised to find them devoid of any malice.

"He was a friend." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded confused.

Lyra had never seen a man look so uncomfortable before. In any other situation, she would have felt a prodding to comfort him.

Instead Lyra stared at him and said nothing until he blurted. "I should apologize-"

"No. It's fine." She cut him off, in no mood to pretend that she cared what the man thought of her. It seemed so trivial now, how the whispers that bothered her so much before.

He rubbed the back of his neck in a sheepish manner, "My Lord Aragorn, if we could speak-there is a war chamber prepared-"

She didn't miss the look the ranger threw her way; try to be subtle as he might. "I'll be fine, Aragorn." She promised, "Go on."

He pressed a hasty kiss on her cheek and whispered, "Quel karma." _Sleep well._

She fixed a smile upon her face that she hoped looked more convincing than it felt as he followed Théoden and Eomer back into the gates. The day had passed easily enough but in the night, Lyra would be left alone, leaving her open to the guilt that she knew would flood in.

Gimli failed to fight off a huge yawn that near split his face in two, "I must admit, you've tired me out lassie. I'm off to find a warm bed."

Without waiting for her reply, the dwarf lumbered off, his pace slower than usual. A frown marred Lyra's lips. She hadn't hurt him, had she?

"Lyra." Legolas raised an eyebrow at her startled expression, before gesturing beyond the sloping hills, "Go for a walk with me."

Seizing his offer like a lifeline, she nodded, too eagerly perhaps, from the twitch on Legolas' lips.

They walked in silence for several minutes, trailing along the jagged rock that Helm's Deep was nestled into. When they turned around a sharp bend, Lyra grinned. Of course Legolas would find the only tree in miles.

From the mixture of dirt and rock, a wide oak towered, its branches covered in orange and red leaves.

Legolas grinned mischievously and jumped upwards, swinging himself onto the lowest branch with easy grace.

He glanced down at Lyra, eyes turned grey in the moonlight, "Aren't you coming up?"

She crossed her hands over her chest and sighed, "You know I can't reach." Standing on her tiptoes, she wagged her fingers in a silent plea.

A warm hand grasped hers and pulled her upwards with seemingly no effort until she was able to clamber onto a thick branch. His other hand remained on her back, the warm pressure keeping her balanced as she lowered herself to sit next to him.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting shadows into the darkness and illuminating the dark grass that rippled like waves of water. Away from the light, a wide expanse of sparkling stars streaked across the sky. For a long moment, the only noise that existed was the rustle of wind that wound through the leaves.

Legolas remained just as comfortable high above the ground as he was with two feet firmly planted on it.

Lyra, though she had climbed many trees in Rivendell, ended up more often than not falling from those trees. Her brothers often commented how lucky it was that their father was such a skilled healer since most of his services were focused on soothing the cuts and scrapes that she brought home. _Her brothers._

Lyra felt her stomach give a dip.

"Relax, I'm won't let you fall." Legolas assured her, noting the way her eyes flickered to the empty space where her feet swung high over the dark grass.

"We all didn't grow up in a city of trees." She replied, scooting closer to him, despite her quip.

"You still haven't seen Mirkwood." He reminded her, "After all this is over…"

Lyra looked away, hiding a smile at his reminder. Legolas had brought up the topic several times before. It pleased as well as baffled Lyra that he seemed so intent that she visit his homeland. "You'd go back to being a prince and have no time for me."

"I happen to be a prince now." He replied smartly.

She smirked and felt herself relax. The pain in her limbs had faded to a distant echo, allowing her to appreciate the clean air, carried over the dark plains, absent of death and orc.

"It's nice up here." Her voice was soft in the darkness. "I like trees."

She felt rather than saw Legolas' eyes on her because she fought away a blush at her sudden unprompted confession. "What I mean is that they're quite nice, don't you think?" She asked.

Legolas gave a sudden exhale of breath that fanned her shoulder- a puff of laughter he was unable to hold in.

"Tell me about Mirkwood then Prince Legolas." She ordered with her most commanding voice.

Rather than immediately comply, Legolas reached over and took her hand. Lyra felt her body go hot and cold at once when he brushed a kiss over her knuckles. When he peeked up at her through his lashes, she fought a shiver, "Whatever my lady commands."

Snapping her mouth shut and tugging her hand away, she coughed, "Well, get on with it then."

And it was with Legolas' trademark patience that he described the activities that awaited her in Mirkwood. He spoke of the towering trees so ancient that even the oldest being in Middle Earth couldn't remember a time without their presence. Of secret groves where the flowers bloomed only by moonlight. Of animals so strange that they were only seen once a generation.

He told her how the stars would cut through the mist of the world and if one climbed high enough and stretched out their hand, they could almost brush back the starry expanse of sky.

Lyra remained spellbound, content to listen to the smooth roll of his voice. Hours must have passed that they sat there and only when Lyra began to tremble did his voice pause.

Once again, he took her hand but this time there was no teasing light in his eyes as he brought her fingers to his mouth and blew warmth into them.

"You're cold." It was not a question but Lyra, captivated by the feel of how small her hand felt in his, struggled for something to say.

"I hadn't noticed." She replied dumbly as another shiver racked her body. But she wasn't cold, a small part of her mind provided. She was burning; his fingers left tendrils of fire that licked at her veins.

"Perhaps we should go back." His brow furrowed in concern.

Despite the chill in the air, Lyra felt a strange resistance to leave. And it was with that struggle that she blurted out her next question, "Do you remember your mother?"

Silence descended and Lyra swallowed down her horror, "I'm sorry. I don't know what made me ask. It was thoughtless-"

She expected him to pull away or at least release her hand but he did neither. "I was very young when she sailed." He smiled at her distress, "I don't mind." But there was wariness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "I should remember. She was my mother after all."

"But you don't?" She asked gently.

"When I was young, I would fall asleep every night seeing her face. As the years passed, I started seeing less and less." He shifted, "Now, all I'm left with are dreams. Whose to say if they are memories or creations of my own imagination?"

"But you'll see her again." Lyra added, hating the heaviness that weighed down his words, especially when she had put them there in the first place.

He nodded. "One day."

"I'm sure your father misses her terribly." She murmured, thinking back to the presence of sorrow in Lord Elrond's eyes when he spoke of his wife.

Legolas stared down at her hand still covered by his but she had a feeling he was unseeing of it all, "Long before you were born, my father went to war for the jewels that she wore. And when he got them back, he went into the forest and buried them in the ground and told no one where. Priceless starlight beneath our feet."

"Why would he do something like that, when he finally got them back?" Lyra asked.

Legolas was quiet for so long that she suspected he might not answer. A flicker of deep emotion clouded his eyes, there and gone, leaving Lyra to wonder when he had become as adept as shielding his emotions as shooting an arrow. "Because he loved her."

Lyra wasn't sure what the right thing was to say. Or if there even was anything right at all she even could. So instead she confessed, "I've been thinking about my own mother, wondering. Just small things- what she liked to do, what she looked like, places she stood. Maybe she liked to read or she preferred spending time in the forests. If she ever loved anyone." The words felt like an admission of guilt. Naïve perhaps. After all, what proof was there to say her mother hadn't been just as terrible as her father?

"I'm sure she was lovely." Legolas said with more conviction than she felt.

"Why do you think that?" She asked, absentmindedly running her fingers over the rough bark to distract herself.

He brushed her braid back, stilling her movements, "I don't think you take after your Saruman. You must have gotten it from her then."

Praying that Legolas would not notice the flare of heat in her cheeks, she reached forward to clamber to a branch above her head. It was almost painful to sit near him, so aware was she of every movement. She shook her head to banish the wary thoughts away, "What do you think, prince? Do I have the skills to make my way throughout Mirkwood? Perhaps I could swing from tree to tree."

Legolas leaned back, eyes regarding her antics with an easy smile, "I'll take you there. I promise." Legolas vowed. Nothing in his tone allowed doubt. "But let's not tell Gimli."

Lyra's laughter followed her as she climbed higher.


	44. Exodus

_"How many yous have you been?_

 _How many,_

 _Lined up inside,_

 _Each killing the last?"_

― **Kate Tempest**

* * *

"Father might yell at you." Lyra warned, trying and failing not to wring her fingers too tightly together.

Elladan finished tightening the saddle and faced her with a sigh, "It's nothing I haven't faced a thousand times before."

It was true, of course. After all, Lyra had witnessed it over and over again but she bit back the truth that lay unspoken between them.

That he hadn't faced father's anger without Elrohir by his side.

That he hadn't done anything at all without his twin, as constant as his own reflection.

Even then, she half expected Elrohir to sneak up behind her and swing her around in a circle like he had when she'd been younger. Expected to see the wide, teasing smile that had stretched across his face.

She frowned at the shadows that had only grown and darkened under her brother's silver eyes. Elves didn't need sleep nearly as much as others but in that moment, Elladan looked more like a human than ever before.

He was still handsome and tall and strong in a way that all elves were. But in the recent days, his posture had slowly bent further. Sometimes she imagined he walked with a limp. He face was drawn, his eyes tired. Somewhere along the way, he had lost what made him, him.

Father could help him of course, give him vials that would help him sleep without nightmares. That would empty his mind for a few blissful hours.

That is, if Elladan would consent to take them. Lyra wondered if Lord Elrond already knew. Perhaps even now, he sat staring out at the beauty of Rivendell and felt as though his heart had stopped…

Her fingers itched to smooth the crease from Elladan's forehead. Instead she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes to press herself against him. He held her, lightly at first and then tighter. She could feel the way he trembled under her fingers, how long it took him to let her go, almost like he was afraid of what would happen when he did. As he stepped back, he averted his eyes. With sharp hurried movements, he mounted his horse. What was left of the company of elves waited behind him a ways, trying to give the two siblings some semblance of privacy. Still, she could feel when their eyes would land on her like pinpricks on her skin.

She forced a smile to her face.

"Goodbye Elladan." At her whispered words, he did look down at her, his lips pressed into a tight thin line.

"I will see you again." He said with such finality that she wondered who he was trying to convince more.

"Of course." Despite the heat of the sun on her back, she felt a chill in the air.

"Promise me."

She made a small sound; her throat was too tight. But she gave a nod and said, "I promise."

He let out a breath and sat a little taller. "Be safe little sister."

Lyra stood and watched as his mount turned and carried him away.

The ever-familiar wave of despair threatened to crush her again but she ignored it. She was getting better and better at pushing the pain away.

When Gimli's gloved hand grasped her arm, she glanced down in surprise, so intent on watching Elladan's swiftly retreating form that she hadn't even heard her friend's approach.

"It's almost time to go lass. Are you ready?" The corner of his eyes crinkled with the force of his smile and Lyra realized he was as eager as she to leave.

She nodded and gave one last glance towards the golden plains. Elladan had disappeared, swallowed up by the sun's glare. She turned away and followed after Gimli.

As they fell into step, Lyra confessed, "I guess I won't really miss this place." Lines of farmers, men, women, and children had already begun the long trek back to Rohan. Soldiers were easy to spot in their armor as they helped the old and weak along- pushing and pulling carts filled with all the goods they possessed.

It only took a few seconds of Lyra walking beside Gimli to notice that something was wrong. Or rather, something that _should_ have been wrong with him wasn't.

She aimed a suspicious glance at the dwarf. "You can stop pretending Gimli." She smiled down at her friend and laid her hand gently on his shoulder.

He peered up at her and gave a knowing smirk, "Just because you're sore and out of shape doesn't mean I am."

Her fingers tightened in a somewhat threatening grip, "Gimli, I could barely walk this morning. I know I'm not alone in this."

He puffed out his chest, "I don't feel any different than any other morning."

Gritting her teeth against his stubborn show of pride dominating her own, Lyra stuck her foot out in his path. She was unable to keep a giggle from escaping when Gimli toppled to the floor with a surprised bellow. Blushing a bright red, he struggled to his feet and faced her with a growl.

"Apologize." He demanded.

"Admit that you're in just as much pain as I am and I'll apologize." She turned her nose up.

"Never." He took a step towards her. It would have seemed threatening if not for the playful glint in his eye. She gave a startled yelp and darted out of the way as his gloved hand darted out and snatched the edge of her tunic.

"Gimli!" she squealed, trying to run away and failing as the cloak tangled around her neck. "Let go!"

With a flick of her wrist, she freed herself and darted forward, only to promptly smack into a hard chest. Hands caught her as she fell back.

"Legolas." She yelped and tugged his body in front of hers, using him as a barricade between her and Gimli, twirling them both into dizzying circles.

"Aragorn is waiting." He murmured to Lyra, who had attempted to burrow under his arm. When it became clear that neither she nor Gimli were listening, Legolas gave a great sigh, took her hand and tugged her forward. "We're leaving."

Behind them, Gimli vowed retribution, the severity paling when he bent over to take in great struggling breaths, hands braced on his knees.

"Oh." Lyra blinked at her surroundings. The packed crowds had dwindled. "Then I need to find Linus."

He didn't need to say anything. Lyra felt his disapproval as clearly as if he had stated it outright.

"He's been quiet." Legolas' eye twitched and she bit back a smirk as she clarified, "I mean more so since the fighting. I just want to make sure he's alright."

Legolas waved his hand towards the sharp point of the lake, where only a few people lingered, "I saw him over there earlier talking to a woman whose husband was no doubt otherwise occupied."

She grimaced and rubbed her neck, "He's going to get in trouble one of these days, but he just seems to enjoy-" she cut off with a blush. Legolas' eyes pinned her to the floor but he didn't say anything. He just waited. "I mean he doesn't exactly obey most polite social rules."

"Is that all?" He asked dryly, arching his eyebrow.

Her voice grew sharp, "Give him a break. He's not used to being in any sort of civilized society."

Legolas blinked at her sudden display of anger, "I suppose you're right."

She grinned, "Was that difficult for you to admit?"

He grunted, "Terribly."

* * *

It didn't take long for Lyra to find her twin. Standing apart from the others, he watched her approach with sharp eyes. She wasn't aware that the humans around them did the same as she gave his horse a pat on its soft nose and laughed when it nuzzled into her hand.

"Well?" she placed her hands on her hips and looked up at him, "Aren't you going to ask me to ride with you so we can have some sibling catch up time?"

She couldn't see against the bright glare of the sun but she imagined he was rolling his eyes at her. "I suppose I can put up with your presence for a little longer."

His hand reached down to grasp hers and she found herself swung neatly behind him with no effort of her own.

"Are you planning on going somewhere?" She asked, wrapping her arms around him. Though her heart had picked up its pace, she kept her voice light, afraid that the strong displays of emotion that she was so prone to would spook Linus.

He shrugged, "You never know. I'm not that fond staying in the same place for long." His long fingers played with the mane of the horse absentmindedly.

"We haven't been in the same place for more than a week!" she exclaimed as they started forward. Linus claimed a place a little further away from the others, where they could talk without being overheard. She wondered if the smell of sweat that accompanied most humans bothered him. Lyra herself had grown used to it. Perhaps Linus was more familiar with the stench of orcs.

"You know what I mean."

"I hardly ever know what you mean." She confessed, giving him a slight pinch, "Most of the time, I just pretend."

"That makes two of us."

Lyra laughed into his shoulder and rested her cheek against his back. His hair had been tied with a string of leather, leaving her a clear view where the slope of his neck met the smooth muscle of his shoulder. Acting on instinct, she pushed herself closer to him and rubbed her cold nose against his skin. He seemed to burn with some internal heat, like he was constantly running a fever. He gave a small startled jerk of surprise at the contact but quickly quieted.

The smooth pace of the horse beneath them, the gentle breeze and the faint scent of smoke and scrolls that permeated Linus' clothes almost lulled her into sleep when the sound of her brother's voice jerked her head upright.

"I've been meaning to give it to you since I saw you-" He said, lifting his hand; there was something tightly gripped in his fist. When she didn't take it, he wagged it impatiently. Shook from her stupor, she reached forward with clumsy movements while he explained, "It's all I have left of- I think it was our mother's."

Lyra opened her hand and gasped at what lay inside. A necklace coiled like a living thing in her hand. A delicate silver chain and at the end of it was a deep red stone that despite the rough cut, sparkled in the light.

She traced the gem softly, thankful he couldn't see her expression, "Linus, I can't take this."

"I can't think of many instances I would wear it." His voice was teasing but something in it was needy, desperate almost in a way that confused her. "Put it on."

With fingers that only slightly shook, she pulled it over her head. It settled just above her heart, warm and heavy, against the hollow space of her collarbone.

She gave a small laugh before the guilt washed over her, stealing her breath like a punch to the gut.

Elrohir was dead and here she was with a chain of white silver around her neck, with a pulse of its own. Smiling.

"Don't do that." Linus' voice made her falter. "You're not selfish for feeling happiness. There's precious little of it."

It no longer scared Lyra how he could sense her emotions without seeing her. How she could do the same. What scared her was the force of those emotions she could glimpse, how alone he always seemed to feel, even surrounded by people. How he existed in a constant state of desperation.

"What makes you happy Linus?" Gazing up at her brother, Lyra was taken back to find just how little she knew of the elf next to her.

She wondered who was older.

She wondered what it must have been like to grown up next to Linus- someone just like her, not thousands of years older. What trouble they would have gotten into. How effortlessly he had engraved himself into her. How they were mirrored images of the other, but somehow so different.

Surprise flickered across his eyes like he had never considered happiness. Then his expression closed to her. Carefully so. "There's more to life than being happy."

Lyra frowned, "But you just said-"

"Yes well that was for you." He hurriedly continued, "The soldiers say there's to be some kind of a celebration. Supposedly the mead flows like water and all sorts of animals are slaughtered and roasted so that the men can eat too much and fall sick afterwards. I thought you might like to wear it."

"You made it sound so quaint." Lyra yawned. Splashes of red and yellow danced behind her eyes.

"They are humans." His tone was amiable enough but there was something underneath that, something that always made her wonder…

She spied Aragorn and Eomer walking together, talking rather amiably. "Well I like them."

"Of course you do." She felt his sigh as one of his hands found hers. He entwined their fingers. Lyra would have wondered at the gesture but she was so tired and Linus was warm. His chest dipped and rose under her hands.

Linus was speaking again, saying something in a low tone that she could feel reverberate through him. His calloused fingers scraped against her skin gently, almost hesitantly.

Lyra wanted to tell him it was okay- that he could touch her. That his touch didn't hurt her like she suspected he feared.

But once again her eyes had closed of their own volition and beyond, the world lay muted and distant.

* * *

I'm a TERRIBLE person! I promise I have not abandoned this story. I am definitely going to finish but as far as promising to have steady updates….I always mean to but I suck at it.

This has been a very slow romance burn but I promise, there is some actual…stuff coming….soon. Very soon. I PROMISE!

BUT, I do have to send out a huge thank you to all the people who have stuck with me and left such nice reviews!

JellyBear7, JDMichelle2626, RachelTW, Serena, Goddessofwarriorcats, brandibuckeye, Arasa, StarkidOnPigfarts, MotherAiya, Lotr4life20, RLMz, Firestargold, qantaqa- thank you all for taking the time review. It means a lot!


	45. Take Me Deeper

_"_ _We are so lightly here._

 _It is in love we are made._

 _In love we disappear."_

 **-Leonard Cohen**

* * *

For perhaps the tenth time, Lyra attempted to pull the neck of her dress higher.

The color, a delicate pale purple that almost turned silver, almost glowed against her skin.

Or perhaps it was the other way around.

Its material, thin and sleek, caught on the callouses of her fingers when she smoothed her hand over her figure self-consciously. It was a simple design that left her arms bare but hugged her chest and hips, elegant in ways she never took time to appreciate before. The wound on her shoulder had almost completely healed. All that was left was a milky white scar that grew a little thinner each day.

Her reflection, she had to admit-however ruefully, wasn't too terrible.

But the skin on display…was a bit more than she was used to showing.

Lyra had never liked dresses. There wasn't any particular reason why. Perhaps it was that rolling around the underbrush and wading through streams weren't the best opportunities to wear pretty things that would usually come back torn or covered in mud.

She had always appreciated the freedom that pants afforded her.

But as she gave the dress a few experimental twirls, she found herself strangely surprised at how easy it was to move around, at how light and soft it felt against her skin.

She had been planning on wearing the same thing she did most days- a clean shirt and breeches- perfect for fighting and riding.

Perhaps without a sword strapped to her side.

That was until Eowyn had cornered Lyra in the hallway and shoved a wad of fabric in her hands, and insisted in not so subtle terms that Lyra had to wear the dress tonight…or else.

Of course she never actually found what that was because Eowyn had spotted her brother and left just as suddenly as she had come.

They had only just arrived back at the Golden Hall at sunrise that morning when King Theoden announced the feast that would celebrate the courage of those who had died at Helm's Deep.

It also presented the living with a chance to celebrate, well, not being dead.

The necklace that Linus had given her hummed flush against her skin. It provided Lyra the motivation to pull the tattered remains of her bravery around her and study her familiar features.

In the mirror, she thought, just maybe there were flickers of her mother- round face, high cheekbones, the almond shaped eyes tinged with green and flecks of blue. The thick, often unruly hair. That part was easy.

What came after was much harder- forcing herself to piece together what she had gotten from _him_ as well. Saruman.

Arwen had always been the beauty of the family, the likeness of Luthien herself.

Lyra was always just a little too short, too clumsy, too human.

But now, she knew that she wasn't human at all.

And in the dress, with her long hair spilling over her shoulders, curling at the edges, she looked every bit an elven maiden. Not as tall or delicate as the others, but she would pass.

Lyra took a deep breath and tugged at the fabric a moment more, embarrassed by how it clung to her.

She resisted the urge to pull her jacket around her shoulders and instead, strode through the door. It closed with a click that echoed through the empty hallways. The feast hadn't officially begun but she knew most people had started celebrating hours earlier. She had easily forgone that for a long soak in a bath. And now, with her hair slightly damp and smelling of mint, with her skin scrubbed free of dirt, she felt brand new.

She followed the music and laughter that floated through the air, until it grew so strong that the floors and walls almost pulsed with it.

She paused outside the door and smiled as she recognized one voice that rose above all the others. Gimli.

From the sound of it, he hadn't paused in what he promised to be a legendary consumption of ale.

One of the men that guarded the door caught sight of her in the corner. He was young, close to her own age, and possessed a roguish grin. With a hasty look at his captain, he presumed to give her a wink that Lyra wasn't quite sure she trusted.

Offering a weak smile, she quickly skirted around him to step inside the entrance of the Golden Hall. The scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread wafted towards her and Lyra felt her stomach growl in response. The room was packed to the brim with laughing people; a few had already fallen asleep, their snores indiscernible among the commotion of everything else. Hundreds of candles brandished away the darkness so that the only night that could be seen was that peeking in through the windows.

Lyra had witnessed time and time again how the presence of those in her company were treated different than most.

How their intimidation produced hesitance in others, how people gave them a few extra feet of space.

Most days, Lyra forget that they were all titled, respected, legends in their own right.

People listened when Aragorn gave his opinion.

They looked up when Legolas walked by.

Even Gimli was subject to sidelong, wondering glances.

For her, it was a little different.

So it came as a complete surprise to Lyra that when she walked into the room, many looked her way. Barely resisting the impulse to glance over her shoulder, Lyra forced herself forward, eyes scanning the crowd for someone familiar with something akin to desperation.

It wasn't difficult to spot her companions. They sat over to the side, all varying heights, all varying degrees of drunkenness.

Gimli gave a loud whistle.

Aragorn had smiled at her, told her that she looked beautiful, and in the same breath, asked if she would perhaps like to cover her shoulder with his coat.

She only giggled and shook her head, choosing not to remind him that Arwen often wore things that were…well, less than what she had on.

Legolas didn't say anything but she could feel his eyes on her like a living thing.

She had just sat down when Gimli shoved over a mug full of brown liquid. "Here lassie. You could use some with how these past few weeks have been. Perhaps if your brother had come, I would have some real company. These two are weak in consumption of good drink."

Dubiously, she accepted the mug. "I don't think Linus likes crowds very much." She murmured as she sniffed it and immediately wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"I suppose you have only had wine." Legolas commented, running his long fingers over the rim of his glass.

Lyra nodded absentmindedly, now curious. She was thirsty, after all. Encouraged from the expectant look on Gimli's face, she brought the mug to her lips and took a deep gulp. Tears sprung to her eyes as she attempted to swallow against the burning in her throat. It didn't smell good but it tasted far worse.

Legolas patted her on the back while Aragorn cast a disapproving glance at Gimli who was laughing merrily.

"That's a good lass. You get used to it."

When she was finally able to take a breath, she coughed before adding, "I think it's gone bad."

"It's supposed to taste like that. Come now. Try a bit more. It'll make you feel better." He reached up and pushed the pitcher to her lips again.

"Gimli." Legolas warned, glaring down at the dwarf. "She is not used to it." He snatched the cup away from Lyra's hands. She frowned at him but chose not to argue and instead, reached over to grab a piece of bread, still warm, from a platter set out on each table. She nibbled a piece that was smothered in fresh butter, finding it much more pleasing.

Gimli wasn't as easily swayed.

"The child has a good excuse not to yet be good at drinking." He patted her arm in a comforting way, as though she might have taken offense at his words. "You however-" he scowled-"have no excuse, especially being an old man and all."

At that Legolas folded his arm, his eyes growing sharper. "She's little more than a child." Gimli added, "And you aren't. Do you get my meaning?"

Lyra felt her confusion grown when Legolas seemed to pale. He managed to stutter out, "I'm not-"

"Prove your worth then as a man- uh, elf. I call for a drinking game." He shouted, slamming his mug down, splattering Lyra and calling attention to himself. Several cheers went up while men and women gathered around, eager for more entertainment.

When Legolas only grit his teeth, Gimli prodded further, "What's wrong? Afraid to show the girl here how delicate you really are?" He bellowed a laugh, exceedingly proud of the wit he managed to conjure up in his half muddled state.

Lyra had to grin at that; but her smile quickly faded when Legolas turned his glare on her.

"Fine." He spat out, standing to tower over Gimli.

The dwarf felt no threat however and thumped Legolas on the leg. "That's a good lad."

"This is foolish." He ground out, accepting the first mug from Eomer, an identical look of distaste on his face that Lyra had worn moments ago.

"It makes him feel better." She smiled fondly at the dwarf, already holding his stubby fingers out greedily for his first pint. She winced when half the contents splashed onto his legs. But if Gimli noticed, he didn't show it.

Legolas, on the other hand, wasn't looking at Gimli quite as fondly as her. In fact, he seemed to be barely restraining himself from strangling him. But he gave a grunt of consent. "Very well."

"Besides, you'll never feel it anyway." She added, smirking when Aragorn slid further down the table, out of the reach of Gimli's mug.

"Actually, I have small tolerance for the drink. I might even do something foolish."

Looking into his eyes, she couldn't decide whether he was teasing or being serious. She had no time to think on it any longer because Gimli was complaining that more of the growing crowd had not bet on him.

"Don't let him keep you from a good drink just because he is a motherly hen." Gimli pressed another mug into her hands.

"No pauses and no spills." Eomer announced to the few dozen that had gathered to watch.

"And no regurgitation." Gimli laughed. "Last one standing wins." With that he raised his drink in a salute and brought it to his lips.

Giving the cup another experimental sniff, Lyra shrugged and brought it up for another taste.

She was about to take a drink when it disappeared from her hand. Legolas has already downed one and hers soon followed the ever-growing pile on the table.

In the beginning, the crowd had applauded with gusto whenever a mug had been laid down empty.

That had given away to silent amazement as the onlookers studied the two with intensity.

After several long minutes however, Lyra was growing slightly concerned to see that neither elf not dwarf looked close to stopping.

Legolas appeared mildly annoyed only as he downed his tenth helping. Gimli, on the other hand, grew more and more relaxed, even when his beard grew soaked and dripped onto his chest.

Legolas broke the silence after they both reached a dozen helpings. "I feel something- a slight tingling in my fingers." With false concern, he added, "I think it's affecting me."

Eomer, who had bet two silver pieces on the elf, looked shocked. That is, until Gimli muttered something about dwarvish women that Lyra was sure was not appropriate and promptly fell from his chair, eyes already rolled back in his head. He landed with a heavy crash.

There was cheering all around from those who had won and coins were grudgingly distributed from those who had lost.

The air had grown hot and stuffy with the heady smell of beer and sweat. People swept forward, pressing against each other, eager to test their own limits. Already more bets were being made, more dares being tossed about.

Muttering a quiet excuse, Lyra slipped through the packed crowd.

* * *

The hallways outside were darker and cooler and after a few moments of wandering, Lyra discovered a small balcony that overlooked the whole of the valley.

Above her head, the stars glistened like winking gems, illuminating just enough of the night that she could see the long grass that rolled like waves back and forth.

It was nice here, with a soft breeze against her flushed skin; she could almost convince herself that the war didn't exist.

That there was no ring.

That she was simply with her friends, old and new, just enjoying being alive.

"Where are you Lyra?" A whisper at her back startled her into awareness. Lyra didn't have to turn to know who it was.

His steps forward were silent and then he was leaning on the balcony beside her, just close enough that their arms were brushing. Sometime during the night, he had rolled up his sleeves. Her own arms were bare in her dress and the feel of his skin against her own was enough to draw her eyes.

"I'd say you were a thousand miles away." He said. She didn't answer but then perhaps he didn't expect her to. Perhaps he already knew she couldn't.

And then, slowly, almost guiltily, she looked up.

While he looked at the stars, Lyra looked at him. Knew that she should look away, that he could probably feel her eyes like she always felt his.

It wasn't a shock to realize that he was beautiful.

She had always known it logically. Water was wet. Aragorn was kind. Gimli was loud. Legolas was beautiful.

Perhaps at times she even felt grungy by comparison but she had never felt it deep inside like truth rushing through her veins.

Beautiful in a way that scared her, in a way that was impossible not to notice but one that she had never allowed herself to focus on.

What did come as a shock was the realization that she was lonely.

She had people- a family and now a fellowship but she didn't _have_ anyone.

No one who really belonged to just her.

No one who she could wholly belong to.

When she had first met Linus, she thought that maybe it was destiny bringing that piece to her.

But in many ways, her twin was still such a mystery to her. She loved him, found him easy to love, as broken things often were. But the part inside herself, not really missing, just not complete, hadn't been filled.

She hadn't even realized how much it ached until that moment. And it was _him_ , she knew, that was the cause.

Legolas murmured something she didn't catch, enough to pull her attention away from her meanderings, hoping her sudden burst of clarity didn't show on her face.

He was beautiful and it would be so easy, too easy to lean forward just a little, to fall.

But if she allowed herself that- that little want- it would be almost impossible to return the comfort of numb acceptance. People like him didn't belong with people like her. Pretending otherwise would only hurt.

So Lyra bit her lip, felt her mind clear a little at the prickling pain.

Took a step back.

He shouldn't have noticed. Really he shouldn't have and maybe by that time, Lyra should have learned not to anticipate him because it wasn't a second later that he turned to face her, with eyes that pinned her to the ground with no effort. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" She asked, not quite managing to distort her voice into something careless.

"Aragorn, the hobbits, even the dwarf can touch you but I can't?" A smile lingered on his lips but she thought it looked forced, that it hid something a bit sharper.

A shuddering breath ran through her. "It's not that."

"Then what?" His fingers were moving, hovering close to her cheek, not quite touching but she could feel the heat of them, doing strange things to her insides, turning everything hot and cold at once.

When he saw she would not be able to answer, he leaned forward, almost against his will, as though he was being drawn.

Until his warm breath ghosted over her skin. And Lyra, who had prepared her entire life to react quickly, found she was unable to move.

His hands skimmed to her side and fell to her hips, holding her there lightly. Barely touching but she couldn't move even if she wanted to.

Breathing was becoming impossible.

"Do you remember when we met?" He asked. Underneath the heat and need, Lyra felt a spark of irritation that he was so clearly in control of himself, while she felt as if there were a fire burning just beneath her skin.

Slowly she nodded, her voice caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. His blonde hair fell over his shoulder, revealing the pale strong slope of his jaw, a jaw whose muscled clenched when he looked down at her.

That look was all it took to transfix her, simultaneously afraid of what it could mean and terrified of what it might not. And in that moment she knew, that he was just as lost as she was.

She pulled away a little at the realization.

This wasn't happening, couldn't be happening.

Not him. Not her.

He couldn't want…

But he moved with her, closer now, so they were nearly pressed together and his fingers, strong and sure and restless- fingers that had seen hundreds of battles, shook as they left trails of fire in their wake.

"I remember owing you a punishment." Her eyes shot up to meet his but it wasn't anger or teasing she glimpsed there but something darker and almost desperate.

Hunger that glittered silver in the moonlight.

She swallowed, hard.

Legolas' eyes flickered to her throat and that must have been encouragement enough because one of his hands slid to the small of her back, pressing her against him so that she was braced against his chest. She could feel its steady and strong pattern resonate through her, faster than it should have been.

His other hand reached up gently, almost lazily, to trace a line from her neck up to her chin.

His scent was all around her, intoxicating up close. He smelled of sandalwood and the moon and something else purely masculine she could never identify. Her lungs filled with him but it was so hard to breathe.

She struggled to collect her thoughts, struggled to remember why that small insistent fragment of her mind echoed that she was being pushed too far.

That soon she might not be able to stop, _whatever this was,_ if she was pressed much further. But the selfish part of her that hungered for more remained still.

She wanted, needed…to stop denying what had been lurking around the dark corners of her mind for so long, what she knew to be true but refused to acknowledge.

She _wanted_ … felt the world tilt as he leaned forward, drawing her closer-his hands were too hot on her skin, too real.

Their breaths mingled and she tasted the clean sharp essence of him- of stars and deep woods-

The world lay still and dark and disorienting in a way that was entirely new but not so unwanted.

And then his lips were on her cheek, just tracing the curve of skin and she was unable to suppress a whimper.

"Lyra." Her name was barely a whisper but contained all the desperation she felt, and when she shuddered, he pressed harder. She could feel his long fingers spread out along her back, felt them as clearly as if there was nothing at all between them. Finding purchase in the hollow points of her skin, she felt his hands catch on the silk of her dress.

There was a groan and Lyra, so lost, was unsure if it came from him or her. It would be so easy to let go…

Her breathing was loud, too loud, or maybe it was his.

And there was nothing to do but fall forward.

It took Lyra a moment to realize the crash behind her wasn't her own heartbeat.

The door behind opened with a bang as Gimli stumbled in, tripping over his own feet, looking far worse than he had an hour ago.

And just like that, the moment broke into a messy sharp thing.

"I was wondering where you disappeared to elf." he hiccupped- "Our bet has not been satisfied."

Lyra saw Legolas in a haze. A hint of anger played on his face, directed at the dwarf but Lyra couldn't differentiate one emotion from the other.

The string that had held Lyra up snapped and she stumbled to the door, feeling as clumsy as if she had been drunk herself. He might have called after her, but Lyra didn't stop.

He was drunk, she reminded herself, skipping over the fact that Legolas probably hadn't consumed enough…

No, he was drunk, she insisted. That was all there was to it.

She heard Gimli vomit behind her as she fled into the welcoming darkness.

Lyra didn't remember running through the halls or ending up in her room, pressed against the door. She did remember sinking to the floor, attempting to calm her erratic heartbeat and breathing, to arrange the chaotic thoughts, to make some sense of order out of the pounding inside her chest, the tug so silent that it ached deep through her.

And deep down, she knew that even though nothing had happened, it still wouldn't prevent tomorrow from being inevitable.

It still wouldn't keep things from changing.

* * *

Hey all! After all this time, we finally get a little romance. Let me know what you think. I appreciate all feedback, even if it's just a few words! Special shout out to smaugkutm who left me perhaps the nicest review I've ever had!


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